My Last Breath
by ArthursCamelot
Summary: Sequel to Someone To Watch Over Me. Peeta and Katniss have survived using more than wit and cunning. Their love is what ultimately saved them from the arena. But just because they're out of the arena, does that mean that the Games are over? Will they overcome new threats? Or will a surprise neither expected end it all? AU, but as canon as possible. P/K
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: What is up my readers?! Let me just begin by saying that I have missed you guys like crazy! Seriously. And also, I have to thank you for the mind-blowing response that I recieved for the final chapter of Someone To Watch Over Me. I broke 1300! **

**That's pretty damn awesome. ****Just sayin'...**

**Anyhoo, now we are here! The first chapter of My Last Breath. Quick factoid: This chapter is set approximately two weeks after the end of STWOM. Peeta and Katniss haven't said a word to each other all this time. Katniss hasn't even seen him in the two weeks since they've been back. The reason will be alluded to at the end of this chapter. **

**Also, another important factiod: These first four chapters are sort of like a prelude to the actual CF rewrite. Between Chapters 4 and 5 is a significant time jump (hopefully it still flows). Basically, the first four chapters focus on resolving the conflict between PK and then the conflict between GK. They deal with teenager-y drama, which I figure PK and company are due considering everything. They are 16 after all and are just coming off a traumatic experience. Emotions are running high. So, relationship drama for four chapters and then when chapter 5 hits things are wonderfully better. You'll love it. Trust me.**

**We just kind of have to stick it out until then. ;)**

**Okay! So! That's about it for this beginning A/N. Remarkably shorter than the beginning A/N to STWOM, but I told you guys I'd never write one that long again. So here's me keeping my word. :D**

**I'm doing something a little different with my disclaimers this time around. Each chapter I'll add a movie quote to the end. Movies are a passion of mine. I'd love to write a screenplay one of these days . . .**

**So, today's new disclaimer movie quote is an ode to my favorite movie, _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_. If you haven't seen it, you really need to take the time and watch it. It's fantastic.**

**Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"**

* * *

Chapter 1

Peeta.

I have to save Peeta.

My feet are flying under me, carrying me faster than should be possible. Everything around me is a blur. My breath is coming in gasps, and the stitch in my side has intensified into a crippling pain, but I soldier through it. I have to save Peeta.

I burst through the trees and leap out onto the plain of the Cornucopia. It's there that I see them. Mutts. All of them yipping and growling and sneering—all hovered around someone. I somehow manage to push myself faster even though my leg muscles are screaming for me to stop.

But I don't let up a single step.

Then I see him. He's fought his way onto the Cornucopia, safe from the mutts. Relief floods me. Peeta is safe. Suddenly, his eyes meet mine, blue on grey, and he smiles. His lips begin to move. He's saying something to me, but I don't hear him.

A mutt—huge, strong, and blond—leaps into view. Its razor-sharp teeth are bared as it soars through the air toward Peeta, who remains oblivious.

I'm screaming at him, trying to tell him to move, to fight, to do _something_ but stand there and smile at me. I reach back to load an arrow into my bow, but my quiver is empty. I'm useless.

The mutt Cato's jaws clamp around Peeta's throat and . . .

"Katniss!"

My eyes are wide and fearful as I shoot up to a sitting position in my bed. I'm covered in a sheen of sweat from head to toe, and my bed sheets are damp from the moisture. My hair, out of its usual braid, is plastered to my face, neck, shoulders, and back. Air is entering and leaving my lungs far too quick to be normal, and my heart feels as though it's about to pound out of my chest.

"Katniss! Look at me. Everything's going to be alright. You're okay."

I know that voice. My eyes cut to my right, and I see my little sister's face, her expression fraught with worry, and kind, sympathetic compassion shining in her eyes. I hear shuffling feet, and my eyes flit to my doorway. My mother stands there, looking at me in fear and worry.

"Katniss?" Prim takes my hand gently. "Did you have another bad dream?"

Bad dream. The phrase doesn't begin to describe what my nightmare was.

Nonetheless, I shake my head. My mind is slowly shoving away the terrifying images in my head, and reason is returning. Prim can't see me like this. I have to get a hold of myself. I don't want to look as broken and lost as I currently feel. Protect Prim. That's what I have to do.

Of course, it's hard to convince her that I'm alright when I've woken up screaming every night since my return from the Capitol, since I won the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

"Yeah," I answer, grateful when my voice sounds fairly steady. "Just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about."

Prim doesn't look like she believes me. I look to my mother, "Go back to sleep. I'm fine."

My mother doesn't look like she believes me either, but like I knew she would, she takes Prim by the hand and begins to lead her out of my room. "Let's give Katniss some time to get her wits about her," she tells Prim. "You need to get some rest."

The door shuts, and I slump back onto my damp pillows. I wonder if the moisture is sweat or tears. Maybe both. I've woken up in tears more than once since my return to District 12 two weeks ago. My eyes find the window that faces the east. A full moon shines a silvery light onto the shiny, hardwood floors of my room. It is probably an hour or so until dawn, but I won't find sleep again tonight.

I step into the bathroom attached to my bedroom. It's probably low on the totem pole by Capitol standards, but it's practically god-sent if you're from the Seam. Marble-tiled floors and walls. A large mirror that hangs over two sinks with gold faucets. There's a large tub with jets that spray water, but that's not what I want. I strip out of my sweat-soaked nightclothes and step into the shower, turning on the water as hot as I can stand.

We moved into the Victor's Village the same day we arrived back in District 12. The entire community seemed to follow us to the green, flower-boxed entrance of the Village. They even carried our stuff that had been packed up into boxes, not that there were many. I was taken to my house first, where I, my mother, and Prim were given a full tour. The house itself is next door to Haymitch's, and size-wise my new abode could easily hold ten of my old home in the Seam. We have a living room, a dining room, a fully-stocked kitchen, a study, and a bathroom on the first floor. The second floor is entirely bedrooms, each with their own attached bathroom. Three bedrooms in all. One for each Everdeen.

Naturally, the house came fully furnished. Capitol-soft beds. Polished furniture made of an exquisite dark wood. Mahogany, I think. Glass lamps. Flowing curtains. It doesn't compare with the lavishness of the Capitol, but it is still lush. However, the biggest change by far is that we have hot, running water at the twist of a knob. Another advantage is the fact that we, as victors, are granted the courtesy of having electricity practically twenty-four seven.

I stand in the shower, watching as my skin slowly turns pink underneath the hot spray. My mind flashes through various moments of my most recent nightmare. Peeta. All of my nightmares were either of Peeta dying or myself dying. And then once, last night, my nightmares involved Rue's death.

Death. That was the recurring theme.

As if to torture myself further, my mind conjures up an image that I will never forget. Peeta watching as I ran away from him, fleeing back to the train—a single tear slowly sliding down his cheek. Why had I looked back?

I did not see Peeta again until the train had pulled into the station in District 12. Without a word, he'd taken my hand. I couldn't meet his eyes, even though I felt his boring a hole into the side of my head. "Showtime," he'd said, just moments before the doors slid open, revealing the crowd that had gathered to welcome us home.

It was almost as if we had never had our conversation along the train tracks. Like Peeta had alluded to, we played our parts flawlessly. We kissed and hugged for the cameras, pretended that everything was alright. We put on a show.

That has been the only word Peeta has spoken to me since returning from the Games. One word. One little word, spoken in such a defeated, hollow voice that it almost brings me to tears thinking about it.

My emotions since my return from the Games have been chaos. I'm simply _feeling_. Sadness. Anger. Confusion. Frustration. Fear. Anxiety. Helplessness.

Longing.

So many times in the two weeks since I've been back in 12 have I longed for Peeta. The comfort of his embrace, the safety and protection I remember his arms providing. I want to cling to Peeta and never let go. I want him to kiss me and tell me that he's there and that it's alright. I need Peeta.

But guilt . . . guilt and shame and fear of rejection have kept me from running to him. I hurt him so much. I could see it in his eyes as he watched me run back to the train. Why would he want me now? Maybe it's better this way. Maybe it's better for him. Maybe he doesn't love me anymore.

The thought rips my heart in two.

Why hadn't I been able to say that I loved him? It's true. I love Peeta Mellark, my boy with the bread. I accepted the fact in the cave, my remembrance of my father's advice to me providing a guiding light. Love is worth the risk.

But why hadn't I been able to say three little words? _I love you_. If I had just said them, I would probably be with Peeta right now. In his house, in his bed, curled up against him with my head on his shoulder. His arms would be wrapped around me, his embrace full of gentleness and yet still possessing a proctective edge that I would find annoying and reassuring at the same time. The thought causes the longing in my heart to flare painfully.

It was Gale. There is something unfinished or unsaid between Gale and I that prevented my response that day along the train tracks. Gale had always sort of been in the back of my mind during the Games. I had imagined, for some reason, that he would not be thrilled about my relationship with Peeta. I had also felt like I was betraying him somehow. Could I possibly care for Gale? More than I already do?

Things between Gale and I have been practically as bad as things with Peeta. Aside from the bone-crushing hug he gave me the day I returned, he has remained cold and distant with me. I don't see him much anyway, since he's started work in the mines. His only free day is Sunday, and last week I was unable to escape into the woods.

I resolve that will change today. It's Sunday, and I'm going to the woods.

The thought of the woods awaiting me causes my mind to kick into gear. It gives me a purpose, something constructive to work toward. Quickly, I wash my hair, using a vanilla scented shampoo that always makes me relax a little. I shut off the water and dry myself with a fluffy, white towel. My feet carry me quickly to my dresser drawers, and I throw on a green shirt and jeans. I slip my feet into my hunting boots and quietly make my way down the stairs, braiding my wet hair as I go.

I'm surprised when I walk into the kitchen to find Prim sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea. "Do you want some?" she asks.

"Sure," I say as she pours me a cup. "What are you doing up? I thought mom told you to go back to bed."

"She did," Prim acknowledges.

"Prim," I reprimand gently. I've never been able to be harsh with her.

"I've been studying mom's old books," she explains, motioning to the book in front of her. I recognize it as one of my mother's apothecary books. "Besides, it's nearly dawn anyway, and I'm helping mom with her patients today."

"Oh." I remember now. She told me yesterday, but I was too busy trying to force the image of a dying Rue out of my head to really pay much attention. "Right."

Prim suddenly looks at me, her blue eyes looking older than they ever have. "Katniss, do you love Peeta?"

I nearly choke on my tea. "W-what?"

"Do you love him?" Prim repeats. "I watched you during the Games. It looked real to me."

"I . . . where is this coming from?"

Prim sighs. "I just want to know why you're avoiding him if you love him like it appeared you did. Are you having a fight or something?"

A dry, sad laugh escapes me. "I guess you could say that."

"Oh," Prim says. "Well, can't you work it out?"

"I want to, Prim." I stare at my tea. "It's all my fault in the first place."

"Then make it right," Prim says simply. "You love him, don't you?"

I blush slightly. "Yes."

"Then it will all work out," Prim shrugs as if it's that simple.

"Peeta said something similar," I admit. "But I don't know if I can believe things will simply 'work out' just because of love."

"Then you're really stupid," Prim says and my eyes widen. Since when had Prim become so direct? Where was my sweet, little Prim? Prim must see my confusion, because she blushes and looks down at the table for a moment. "Sorry," she apologizes. "But I just don't know why you can't simply believe in something Katniss. Everyone has to believe in _something_."

"And you're saying that because Peeta believes in love, he thinks that everything will eventually work out?" I ask, trying to follow my little sister's thoughts. "Prim, I don't have Peeta's faith."

"I'm not saying you have to," Prim says. "Just believe in him. Trust him."

"I do."

"Then why haven't you made up with him yet?" Prim questions pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. "When did you become so knowledgeable about love?"

Prim looks down at the table again. "I've always looked up to you, Katniss," she admits shyly. "You're so strong and brave." Tentatively, she looks up to meet my gaze, and continues. "I watched you fall in love during the Games. I may be young, but I'm not blind. Watching you and Peeta, I learned that nothing could stop love. I mean, think of all that you two overcame. Death. Careers. Tracker jackers. Mutts. I learned that love gave you strength, a strength that can't be beaten. You taught me that."

Prim holds my gaze steadily, waiting for me to say something, but I don't know if I can. I'm simply too shocked by the wise words coming from my twelve year old sister's mouth. Finally, I manage to stutter, "I-I taught you that?"

Prim nods, and then looks at me solemnly. "I don't want to see you sad anymore, Katniss. Can you try and make up with him? Please?"

I've never been able to deny Prim anything. "Okay."

Prim smiles. "Good."

I sip my tea. "So . . ." All of this talk about Peeta has made me wonder how Prim feels about him. Does she like him? I already know my mother's feelings. After we got off the train, a reporter asked my mother how she felt about all of my and Peeta's kisses in the arena. She had responded that though she thought Peeta was a lovely boy, I was too young to have a boyfriend. "What do you think about Peeta?"

"He's cute," Prim says immediately, and my eyebrows rise. "I like his eyes. They're really kind."

I feel my lips turning up. "Okay. How do you like him as a person?"

"He's really nice," Prim says. "I know that he's the one who gives me a frosted cookie on my birthday."

My eyes widen. "What?"

Prim giggles. "It was our secret. When we were at the window that day, he was walking into the bakery and overheard me. He winked at me, and then the next day there's a primrose-frosted cookie on our doorstep?" Prim continues to giggle, probably at my incredulous face. "And then the next Monday at school he wished me a belated happy birthday."

I can't believe it. All this time, Prim knew all along.

"Well," I say. "I'm glad I have your approval."

Prim smiles and glances out the window. The sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon. "You know, Peeta's probably at the bakery already."

My heart begins to pound in mixture of anxiety and longing. "You want me to talk to him now?"

"He's always been a morning person."

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm startled when I hear a knock on the door. Frowning, I get up to answer it, only to be momentarily rendered speechless. Standing on my front porch is probably the last person I ever expected to see.

Rye Mellark, one of Peeta's older brothers. All the Mellark brothers share the same basic features—broad shouldered, blonde, and blue-eyed. But it's only now that I notice just how closely Peeta resembles his older brother. Honestly, if I didn't know that Rye was nearly two years older than Peeta, I would think they were twins. Why have I just now noticed this? Maybe it's because I've only seen Rye a handful of times and subconsciously my attention was always on Peeta.

Although I may have just come to the conclusion that Peeta and Rye could pass as twins, it's still easy for me to tell them a part. It's in their eyes. Though the very same shade of blue, Peeta's eyes sparkle with kindness, while all you see in Rye is mischievousness and playfulness. He's not known as a jokester for no reason.

But now he looks worried, an emotion I'm not sure I've ever seen mar his features.

"Um . . . hi," I say slowly. Why is he here?

"Okay, you're probably a little bit freaked that I'm standing on your porch at the butt crack of dawn," Rye begins. "And I would apologize if it was my thing, but it's not, so I won't. I need your help, oh mighty huntress of the woods."

"Okay . . ."

"You've got to talk to Peeta," he tells me. "The poor guy is all frowny and he doesn't even crack a smile at my best jokes. And then this morning when I jumped him, he freaked on me."

I frown, worried. "What did he do?" Wait, better question. "What did _you_ do?"

"I just meant to get some life back into him," Rye says, sounding confused and concerned. "We'd usually play around, a little wrestling between brothers, you know? Good way to get the morning going. I just meant to shove him around a bit, but the moment I jumped him . . ." Rye frowns. "He freaked. I've never seen him move so fast. He had me pinned to the wall, forearm pressed against my throat in a second."

I'm furious. "You thought it would be a good idea to sneak up and attack someone who just got back from the Games?" I snap. "You moron!"

"I came to that conclusion a long time ago," Rye says. "People just accept it and tell me that I'm special."

Angry flames lick my veins. "This isn't some joke, Rye!"

"I know it isn't," Rye says, looking serious now. "And that's why I need your help. Peeta snapped out of it pretty quick, and then he was apologizing all the way out the door. I think he's back at his house, locked up in that one room."

My anger begins to give way to curiosity and worry as I frown. "What one room?"

"The one that he expressly told me not to go into, the one that he only comes out of to bake bread or frost cakes," Rye sighs. "If he hadn't been so serious when he threatened me to never step foot in that room, I would have taken a peek inside ages ago."

I'm really worried now. Has Peeta really been spending all of his time in one room? What could he possibly be doing? "Which room is it?"

"Upstairs. Second door on the left."

"Go back to the bakery," I tell him. "I'll talk to him."

"And give him a big fat kiss while you're at it," Rye says. "The guy needs it. He needs you. Kiss and make up already."

And with that, Rye hops off my porch and starts walking back toward town, leaving me staring after him.

When he's out of sight, my eyes settle on the front door of Peeta's house directly across the street. It seems as though the silence between us is about to end.

I only hope he speaks more than one word to me.

* * *

**And there you have it! Katniss is miserable. Prim is as adorable as ever. We found out that Peeta isn't doing too hot, and to top it all off, we met Rye! I'll just say that Rye plays a large part in the rest of the series. While a goofball and seemingly ignorant at times, he really does have more serious, mature layers. I hoped you could kind of see that in the brief appearance he made this chapter. :)**

**Okay, so next chapter we will meet Peeta! Woo! Yay! And there is yelling between our lovebirds to be had. It was a ton of fun to write, let me tell you. You might be surprised who wins the little spat.**

**See you guys Friday!**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**

**P.S. This is my first full week of college since we started school last Wednesday. So far, college is a gigantic leap foward compared to high school. Thank, goodness. Classes are pretty cool. My Comp 1 (English) professor is awesome, which is truly all that matters to me. And French is epic. The only thing that sucks is parking. It's a never-ending battle trying to find a parking space that's in my zone. The point of all this babble, is that it would make me totally giddy if you guys reviewed and made my Monday a little bit sweeter. Because I think we can all agree that Mondays need to be sweetened. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Can I just say that you guys are awesome? Yes? You. Guys. Are. Awesome.**

**Seriously? Over a 100 reviews for one chapter? Dudes, that's epic.**

**Also, I've been getting some questions about the rating for this story, and even for Mockingjay. I can tell you right now that I will not be changing the rating to M. I have nothing against M-rated fics. In fact, a lot of my favorite stories on this sight are rated M. But that's just not my thing and I don't really feel comfortable writing it. However, I can tell you that some chapters, both in this story and Mockingjay, will be a _strong_ T, and could probably be considered borderline M. Some chapters I really did flirt with that M rating line, though I do think that I stayed in the T rating, hence why this story is rated T. So, no smut for these stories . . . but I can promise steaminess. :)**

**And another thing, I'm sorry I didn't get to reply to all of your reviews. I did try, I really did, and I think I got to about half of you, but I just couldn't find the time between classes to reply to all of you. Honestly, it takes more than two hours sometimes, because I really do like to _reply_ to your reviews. Like, reply in paragraph form. But I just couldn't find the time to reply like I usually do. So, forgive me.**

**And blame my professors for making me do school-related things. **

**Okay, moving on, this chapter was tons of fun. A PK that screams at each other is always wonderful, in my opinion. So, without further ado, here's the chapter.**

**Today's Random Disclaimer quote comes from Capn' Jack!**

**Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";**

* * *

Chapter 2

The mere twenty seconds it takes me to walk across the street to Peeta's house is not long enough. What do I say to him? Do I even knock on the door? He'd have to answer, wouldn't he? Does he even want to see me? I think back over our interactions since returning to 12. Oh, wait, there are none because he's been studiously ignoring me. Then again, I really haven't made an attempt to talk to him either.

I decide to just waltz in like I own the place. The door is unlocked, and I quietly close it behind me. I'm struck by how eerie Peeta's house feels. It doesn't have the homey vibe that I imagined it would. A single lamp is turned on in the living room, casting the rest of the shadowed downstairs in a soft, yellow light. I can smell nothing cooking in the kitchen, which strikes me as odd because I saw the way Peeta was practically drooling over all the appliances and ingredients he had at his disposal.

My eyes find the staircase that leads up to the second floor. The third stair squeaks, and I make a note of it for later reference. The rest of my ascent is soundless, and once I reach the second floor I continue down the hall until I reach the second door on the left.

What now?

"Peeta?" I keep my voice down, feeling the need in the already quiet house. I knock softly on the door. "Peeta, it's Katniss."

The door remains shut.

"Oh, come on, Mellark," I huff impatiently. "I know you're in there. Rye told me."

The door opens, and I'm momentarily rendered speechless. The last time I saw Peeta shirtless, he was dying and losing blood. His entire torso had been riddled with clawed gashes and scratches, a gruesome bite mark on his left forearm. But now his skin is flawless, the wide expanse of his chest is bare, and my fingertips tingle with the need to touch it.

"Katniss, my eyes are up here," Peeta says dryly.

My face flushes, and I tentatively look up to meet his eyes. They're guarded, which hurts, but I know that I deserve it. However, I'm not entirely certain, but I think I see a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "This isn't the first time you've seen me without a shirt," he says as he steps by me, shutting the door on his way out.

I don't see what's inside.

Peeta starts down the hallway, and I follow him. "It's the first time you aren't shirtless and dying," I say as we step into what appears to be his bedroom. The unmade bed and pile of dirty clothes in the corner add credence to my theory. My theory is confirmed when Peeta pulls out a t-shirt from a drawer.

I'm disappointed when he pulls the shirt over his head, hiding my view of him. Wait, since when did I ogle?

Peeta turns to me and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the far wall opposite me. "You said Rye sent you here."

"Yeah," I say as I take a step further into the room. "He's worried about you."

Peeta looks down at his feet, and I can feel the shame radiating off him. "What happened, Peeta?" I ask softly, taking a few more steps toward him. I'm in the middle of the room now.

"I don't know." Peeta runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time I notice the deep, purple bags under his eyes. "I just . . . it all came back. When he jumped me, it was like I was back in the arena. I saw Cato, not Rye." Peeta's eyes come up to meet mine. "For a moment, I thought about killing him. I was just in that state of mind, but it was _Rye_. My brother. I could have killed my own brother."

"You wouldn't have," I tell him surely.

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do." I steel myself and close the distance between us. Though it must be my imagination, I can feel a current running between us, electric. "You will always be Peeta, the very same Peeta that gave me the bread."

"I'm not the same person." Peeta shakes his head. "Everything I did in the arena, that wasn't me."

His words echo my own during our conversation along the train tracks. I had told him that I was a different person, but he had said that I wasn't. I'd told him that I didn't know who I was anymore, and he'd told me that I hadn't changed. I had. I'd known.

And now here was Peeta, apparently having the same problem. "Of course you're a different person," I tell him a bit more harshly than I intended. "We survived the Hunger Games, Peeta. That changes someone."

"I don't want to be a piece in their games!" Peeta shouts, shocking me into silence. He must see my reaction, because he lowers his voice as he continues. "I want to still be me. I don't want them to change me. I don't know how to . . . how to reconcile what I did, what I've done . . ."

"And you know, it'd probably be easier if everyone didn't treat me like some pariah," he mutters resentfully. "My mother hasn't said a word to me since she got back. Dad treats me like I'm . . . better than him, or something. Telling me that I don't have to work at the bakery, and that I don't have to do anything. Chris just looks at me like he doesn't know me. Thank god, Rye is still treating me like normal otherwise I'd probably go insane!"

I open my mouth to say something, but Peeta interrupts. "And you, I thought I would have you. I wasn't naïve enough to think that everything would be the same when we got back, but I thought I'd have you, and that didn't make it seem so bad."

Guilt rushes through me. "You do have me."

Peeta raises his eyebrows, questioning. "Do I?" he asks. "Because after the train, I'm not so sure."

"What do you want me to say, Peeta?" I snap. "What do you want? A proclamation of my undying love? Do you want it in writing?"

"Hey, if you want to do that, be my guest," Peeta gestures grandly. "The paper is in the desk."

I'm shocked and furious at his words, at his tone. Never would I have imagined Peeta being purposefully mocking, his words meant to hurt. My ire rises. "Just who do you think you are? You're not acting like my Peeta!"

"Your Peeta?" Peeta repeats. "So I can be yours, but you can't be mine? God, are you really that selfish?"

"I never said I wasn't yours!" I yell.

"You didn't say anything!" Peeta shouts back at me. "You apologized and then took off! I don't know what to think! In the Games, it seemed pretty clear. I thought that there was love in your eyes, I believed you. But maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see. Maybe it was all a part of a plan, to keep sponsors."

"Well that _was_ your plan wasn't it?" I retort angrily. "Use our relationship to get them to like us? That was _your_ idea Peeta, not mine!"

"I was doing it to _save_ you!" Peeta seethes. "Everything I did was to save you!"

"And I did everything I could to save _you!"_ I scream. "Because I couldn't lose you! I couldn't let you die!"

"Why?" Peeta demands. "Did you do it because you love me or because you felt like you owed me?"

"Why can't it be both?"

"Because that's not how love works!" Peeta snaps furiously. "It's not some business deal!"

"No, but it _is_ 'give and take'!" I retort. "But not because we feel like we owe each other. We give love because we want to make the other happy, and we take the happiness that the other's actions give us! I, of all people, should not be the one explaining this to you!"

Unable to be in his presence any longer, too afraid that I'll say something that I'll regret, I spin on my heel and stomp out of his house, slamming the door behind me. Satisfaction fills me when the sound seems to reverberate through the entire village.

I look up at the sky. It's maybe half an hour past dawn. Plenty of time to escape into the woods. I'm at the Meadow in no time, and sliding under the fence in the next second. The moment I'm surrounded by the tall, green trees I feel myself begin to relax. Slowly, my muscles unwind one by one as the sounds of the forest come to life around me.

I grab my bow from its hiding place and take a moment to run my hand over the wood. This is my bow. Not the metal, Capitol one I'd used in the Games. I pull back the string, and it almost gives me the feeling that I'd never left 12.

I sling my quiver over my shoulder and make my way to what used to be my safe haven. Gale is not there when I arrive at our little hiding place, but I still sit down on the rock and gaze out over the valley. It hasn't changed a bit. Everything here is the same.

I'm the only thing that's different.

I had started out in the Games so sure of myself and my course. I was going to try to win for Prim. Falling in love with my district partner was not a part of my plan by any means. Hell, falling in love wasn't even a part of my plan for life in general. But here I am, in love with Peeta Mellark.

And also incredibly pissed at him.

How could he be so hypocritical? Didn't I say that we were different people now that we'd won the Games? Didn't I tell him that I was confused? How I didn't know who I am anymore? And he'd been so sure that I was still me. That I hadn't changed. He was so sure that everything would work out.

I think it's safe to say that everything most definitely did not work out.

However, I still can't help but feel guilty for my role in his current state. He was right. I hadn't said anything when he'd asked if I loved him. He did have every right to question me. But honestly, did I need to say it? Couldn't he tell? Prim thought that it was obvious that I loved him. And, apparently, Rye thought so as well. Why couldn't Peeta see it?

"Didn't expect to see you here."

I spin around so fast that I almost fall over. "Gale."

Gale smiles. "Hey, Catnip."

I'm on my feet, throwing my arms around him in the next second. He holds me tightly, and I can't help but make comparisons between Gale and Peeta. Physically, they couldn't be more different. Peeta is broader, but Gale is taller. Gale has the Seam look—straight dark hair, grey eyes, olive skin. Peeta has contrasting curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Even their personalities contrast completely. The best way to describe it, to me, would be to say that Gale is fire and Peeta is ice.

Gale pulls away and seems to look me over. "You look different."

I shrug. "Take it up with my prep team," I say. "I think it's called beauty base zero."

"You don't need it."

I blush, never being one to accept a compliment graciously. "Thanks," I say awkwardly. I glance at the three rabbits that are hanging from his belt. "Snare line did well."

Gale looks down at the rabbits and shrugs. "There's always room for improvement."

"Hmm," I murmur, feeling awkward, and it unsettles me. Things were always easy between Gale and me. To lose that would be something that I don't believe I'm prepared for.

"Haven't seen you around," Gale says after a moment.

"Been busy," I reply. "There was the banquet when we got back, and then Parcel day."

That was probably the only truly good thing about winning the Hunger Games. Watching the supply train come in and seeing kids running around with cans of fruit and vegetables. I even saw some candy bars. Knowing that the train would come by once a month for a year made me feel as though I'd done something right by winning the Games.

Gale and I are silent for a long time. Before the Games this wouldn't have bothered me. Neither Gale nor I are very big with words, and I'd always been able to practically read his thoughts anyway. It bothers me that I can't seem to do that anymore.

"You know, you don't have to pretend anymore," Gale says. "The Games are over."

His words confuse me. "Pretend what?"

"You and Mellark," he explains. "Now that you're back in 12, you can drop the act."

"What act?" I ask, and Gale looks at me like I'm being incredibly dense. I probably am.

"That you're in love with him, Katniss," Gale snaps. "The Capitol can't control you, now. You're safe here."

I remember President Snow when he'd crowned me victor. The hatred, the blame shining in his eyes. The danger. No, I'm not safe. But I can't tell Gale this. With his rage against the Capitol boiling just underneath the surface, I can't risk him blowing a gasket. For someone like Gale, this would be just the right incentive.

But I can't allow Gale to think that my relationship with Peeta is an act. It's not fair to him. "I'm not pretending, Gale."

Now, it's Gale's turn to act dense. "What?"

"I'm not pretending," I tell him. "It's not an act, Gale. I really do love Peeta."

Gale stares at me, searching my face for any sign of hesitancy or falsity. Suddenly, he turns away from me and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "You're kidding me, right? Mellark?"

I frown. "What's wrong with Peeta?" I ask. "He saved my life, Gale."

"No, you saved his," Gale retorts. "He would have died if it weren't for you."

"And I would have been a goner for sure if I'd been alone when the Careers attacked us!" I remind him.

"I knew it." Gale almost seems to be talking more to himself than to me. "I knew it. I didn't want to believe it . . ."

"Why is it so hard to believe?" I ask confused.

"Oh, I don't know. Could it possibly be the fact that you've been adamant for years that you would never fall in love?" Gale asks sarcastically, and chagrin rushes through me. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way."

"What?" I question confused. "What was supposed to happen?"

"You were supposed to fall in love with me!" Gale finally shouts. "Me, Katniss! I was going to wait for you! I was going to try to convince you that it would be worth it!" Gale looks at me, his eyes asking for me to understand. "Come on, Catnip, think about it. Think of how good we'd be together. It just makes sense! We understand each other like no one else. We're both so alike." I can only stare blankly at him. Gale loves me?

"Can you imagine what it was like for me?" he asks. "To watch you fall for him? For a _merchant?_ Someone who you don't have a thing in common with? He couldn't be more different from you! Besides, Catnip, think. You've known Mellark for what, a month, really? You've had years with me, and you fall for him?"

"Gale, I—"

Suddenly, my lips are no longer able to speak because Gale's mouth is on mine. It takes me a second before I realize that Gale is kissing me. Gale Hawthorne, my best friend, kissing me. I can't help but compare Gale and Peeta once again. Gale's embrace is rougher, his lips more urgent, his hands tighter on my hips. Peeta is always so gentle with me, so loving that the tenderness nearly overwhelms me. Of course, that's not to say there isn't passion in Peeta's kiss. A brief flash of a heated kiss we shared in the cave flits through my mind, and I remember the fire that burned my viens in the most delicious way . . .

And while there is fire in Gale's kiss, I don't feel anything. There's no warmth in my chest, no fire in my stomach. But I sense something, something like what could have been.

I pull away, stepping out of his embrace. "I'm sorry, Gale," I say softly. "But I can't."

"Can't what? Love me?" he replies, his voice still persuasive. "Have you even tried?"

"It wouldn't matter," I tell him, trying to be as gentle as possible. This is painful enough for me. "It's always been Peeta . . . I just didn't realize it."

Gale stares at me a long time before his face hardens, turning to stone. The pain that courses through me nearly knocks the wind out of me. I don't want to hurt him, but there's no avoiding this. I'm not only grieving for him, but for me. I feel as though I burned a bridge, one that can never be rebuilt. Gale and I will never be the same. The relationship we had once is gone, and I don't know how to create another, one that works with Peeta in the picture. I hate that it seems as though I'm losing my best friend.

"Guess I just had to try," Gale says, his voice sounding distant. "Just once." He turns away from me and begins to walk away. "Goodbye, Katniss."

I can only stare at his retreating form until he's gone from my sight. Suddenly, the woods are not comforting. They seem confining, towering over me, making me feel vulnerable. My feet begin to move, and before I know it, I'm sprinting through the forest, my destination clear in my mind.

The lake that my father showed me—our secret place—the place where I always feel as though he's still with me.

And I need him now more than ever.

* * *

**Wow, Katniss just can't seem to catch a break, can she?**

**Sooooo . . . lots of stuff happened this chapter! This chapter is a favorite of mine because in PK's argument, we get to see just how much Katniss has evolved and how much Peeta has _yet_ to evolve, which is kinda the opposite of what you would expect. After all, Katniss actually _won_ that argument. Anyhoo, this story is really great for Peeta's character in particular, because even though he's definitely the most mature of the bunch, there's still a ton of room for him to grow, and I loved writing that. For those of you who adore Peeta (who doesn't anyway?) you will _love_ Peeta in this story. Frankly, he has some pretty badass moments. All that awesome stuff he did in Someone? Yeah, that's tame compared to some of the things he does in this story, just sayin'. ;)**

**Also, I know Peeta seemed a little out of sorts this chapter and maybe just a little OOC. He was rather spiteful, but he's dealing with PTSD. I think he's owed a little OOC.**

**And Gale! He's come in and made Katniss's morning even more of a bummer. Don't worry, everything will be dealt with quickly, as I promised before.**

**Alrighty now! Next chapter is strictly Katniss, involves a memory, and we meet another new character! She's adorable, let me tell ya. And so, so cute! **

**Lots of love,**

**AC**

**P.S. For those of you who not only memorize the days I update, but also the time of the day when I update, I have to warn you that I'm not posting as early as I did for Someone. For that story, I typically updated around 2 in the morning. Safe to say with school going on, that wouldn't be a wise thing to do now. So updates are comin' around 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning, my time. Which is Central Time in the US. Just to let you guys know, especially my European readers. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Wow! **

**(begins to happy dance)**

**Oh yeah! Uh huh, yep, I've got the best readers ever!**

**(trips over her own feet and faceplants)**

**Ow.**

**(leaps to her feet and begins dancing again)**

**Yeah, that's right. I'm that happy right now.**

**So glad you guys liked the arguments last chapter! Like I said, they were a lot of fun to write. This chapter is just Katniss . . . kind of. I do introduce a new character here. And while she may seem a little 'AC-how-in-the-hell-do-you-count-this-girl-as-a-character?' I promise that she is CRITICAL to the rest of the series. Especially in Mockingjay. She's got a huge role to play.**

**Anyhoo . . . on with the chapter, right? Yep. I think so.**

**Today's Random Disclaimer quote comes from The Dark Knight. You'll know who said it when you read it. :)**

******Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"

* * *

Chapter 3

The lake looks exactly the same. The water is still clear and blue, sparkling in the morning sun. Tall elms and oaks still surround it, creating a little niche that seems to envelope me comfortingly. Water fowl still hide in the shrubs along the bank, some of them taking flight at my sudden appearance, but I don't shoot them. I let them fly.

My feet carry me to a special spot along the bank. It's a soft patch of the greenest grass, a little ten foot wide piece of land that juts out into the lake. When I lower myself to sit on the grass, I'm surrounded by water on three sides. I'd always liked this little spot. It felt as though I was floating on the water.

I watch as the water laps gently against the edge of my little peninsula. The action has an almost mesmerizing quality about it. My eyes focus, and I see little schools of minnows, and I'm momentarily thrown back into a time where I would lunge into the water to catch them while hearing my father's laughing voice behind me. I flick my finger into the water and watch as the tiny fish scatter.

I exhale loudly and look around me, scanning the shore of the lake from end to end. Birds are in the trees. I see a flash of a black, white-striped wing—a mockingjay. I soak up the scene before me and slowly begin to feel as though my father is still with me, somehow. The mockingjay sitting in the trees. The calmness of the lake. The beauty of the scene. All of these things my father loved and I love them, too.

However, these reminiscent thoughts are soon overcome by my current state in which my mind is chaos, my thoughts jumbled. How could everything go downhill so fast? Could I really have been talking to Prim only hours ago in the kitchen? The memory feels dubiously old. And Peeta. Did we really have a fight? Were we really yelling at each other? How much does he doubt me?

Then there's Gale. Gale is in love with me. He wants me to be in love with him. I think over his argument he made to me and realize that he's right. We would be good together, and it _does_ make sense, us being a couple. He was also right in that I never gave myself a chance. I never gave myself a chance to love him. If I had, would I be with him and not Peeta?

I'm I even still with Peeta?

I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, resting my chin on top. "What do I do?" I whisper.

Suddenly, I hear a whimper. Not a human sound, but animal. I instantly leap to my feet and string an arrow in my bow, pointing it toward the sound. I hear it again. It sounds like a dog. I remember my last run in with a pack of wild dogs. I'd barely climbed a tree in time. I still remember the sharp snap of their jaws, inches away from my feet.

My mind flashes to the Games. The mutts. Giant, mutant, wolf-like hounds that resembled the dead tributes. Razor sharp claws, four inches in length. Peeta and Cato falling into their midst. Watching helplessly as Peeta fought his way back onto the Cornucopia, covered in blood.

It's this image that is in my mind when the bush to my left rattles. My fingers are just slipping off the string when the whimpering creature appears. I quickly jerk my bow to the left and the arrow embeds itself harmlessly in the trunk of a tree.

Whimpering and hobbling its way toward me is a white and dapple-grey ball of fluff. Without my consent, my legs bend until I'm on my knees. I slowly ease out my right hand, trying not to startle the creature. When my fingers come into contact with the soft fur, I can't help but smile a little. The puppy whimpers again, but still licks my hand.

I don't know what's come over me. This pup could be rabid or disease ridden. More importantly, it could have a very protective mother out looking for it. The puppy suddenly lifts its head and looks right into my eyes, and I'm shocked when its purple eyes delve into my grey ones. I imagine that the color is an extremely deep, dark blue, but it could easily be mistaken as purple.

It's only now that I see that one of the puppy's paws is soaked in red. Blood. Something within me causes my hands to reach out and gently pick up the puppy and set her in my lap. I cup my hand in the water and slowly begin to clean the blood from the puppy's paw. Once the blood is gone I see a red ring wrapped around the paw, and I realize that the pup must have gotten caught in one of Gale's snares, but was able to wrench itself free.

"You're a little fighter, aren't you?" I say softly. I find myself admiring the pup. For not giving up, for fighting to live. Kind of like me in the Hunger Games.

I hold the puppy up in front of my face and stare at it. It really is . . . cute. Though her underbelly is pure white, the rest of her is a dapple grey. And then those eyes, so unlike any color I've ever seen, but they entrance me. However, there's something about the looks of this pup that tells me she's no regular wild dog. The face, the snout is too long.

And then it hits me. This isn't a dog. It's a wolf. A real, purebred wolf.

Wolves are as rare as money in District 12. Occasionally, you'd hear rumors about someone supposedly having seen one. My father had always said that the wolves were all gone, had fled the forests of the district during the Dark Days, heading far up north where it was safer. He'd always had a great respect for wolves though, for their intelligence and cunning. There was a story he'd tell me, of how when his grandfather was very young, barely five years old, he'd ventured into the woods for the first time. Of course, being young and amazed by the expanse of the forest, he had quickly wondered too far and gotten lost. Terrified of the dark and the unfamiliar sounds, my great-grandfather had wondered into a den.

It wasn't empty like he thought.

This is the part in the story where I had been nearly bouncing in anticipation. Seeing my excitement, my father would always grin and then reveal the creature that was also in the den—a wolf. Large and grey, the wolf had simply stared at him. My father always said that his 'grandaddy' had been frozen in amazement and fear. He'd been torn between the urge to touch the wolf's fur and run for his life.

Eventually, fear won out and my great-grandfather fled. Somehow, he managed to get back to a place in the forest that he remembered, and curled up against a tree. Minutes later, a pair of glowing eyes appeared, staring right at him. The wolf had followed him.

But it didn't attack him. My father would always swear, wearing a big grin, that the wolf came right up to my great-grandfather and then settled at his feet, staying there with him the entire night before darting off in the morning when his father had found him.

"What am I going to do with you?" I ask, and the wolf pup just stares at me.

I can see the intelligence in its eyes, the cunning. I can't believe that I'm entertaining the thought, but I have the strangest urge to keep the pup and take it home. What am I thinking? A wolf as a pet? Wolves are wild, truly wild. There's no taming them . . .

But those eyes . . . I feel some connection with this animal. Maybe it's because it thwarted death like I did in the Hunger Games. Maybe it's because it's wild and untamed, matching my need to stay out of the Capitol's clutches. Maybe I just want a friend that can't judge me, no matter what I do.

Almost as if sensing my debate, the pup leans forward and licks my face, and I can't help but laugh. I set the pup back down in my lap and it quickly makes itself comfortable, resting its head on my knee. My fingers are in its fur, idly petting my new little friend. I quickly learn that she likes to be scratched behind the ears.

Now that my mind is no longer occupied by thoughts of my father's old stories or the examination of my new friend, I can't help but delve into the chaos of thoughts that is Gale and Peeta.

"I don't know what to do, girl," I say, for some reason feeling the need to talk things out. The puppy is the only other creature here. "I won the Hunger Games, you see. And I fell in love with my district partner, Peeta. The thing is that I never wanted to fall in love. I always thought it was too dangerous, could cause too much pain. But Peeta made me think otherwise." I pause, bewildered that I'm confiding in a wolf pup. I _must_ be desperate because I continue. "But after we won, I started to get nervous. I was scared and confused. I felt like two different people the closer we got to home. Gale and my old life were waiting for me, clashing with my new reality. I didn't know what to do, how to choose."

To my surprise, the pup actually looks up at me, as if it's really listening. It's almost like it's asking, "What did you choose?"

"I didn't really," I answer. "I want so badly to mesh them together, to combine them, but I don't know if I can. Especially now."

I think about Gale. I realize that if I had let myself, I could have easily fallen in love with him. He's right. It would have been easy. It would make sense. We were cut from the same cloth—both from the Seam, both losing our fathers in the mines, both of us knowing the burden of providing for our family, knowing that it's all up to us. The trust we built over the years, the friendship. I truly care for Gale, deeply in fact. He's my best friend.

And it easily could have been more, if I had only allowed it. But I hadn't, because in the back of my mind, there had always been the boy with the bread.

"I could have fallen for Gale," I tell the pup. "It would have been easy . . . but in the long run, I don't know if it would have worked out. Gale is fire and I have enough fire of my own. I need Peeta. There's something about him, something that gives me the courage to hope for something better."

The pup looks at me for another second before laying its head back on my knee. As if it deems our conversation over and I've found my answer. I realize that I have. The only thing that kept me from telling Peeta that I loved him along the train tracks was the past, Gale, subconsciously knowing what could have been. The need to resolve what had remained unsaid between us.

I only wish that Gale and I could have settled things amicably. I wish that I didn't feel as though I'd lost my best friend. Maybe Gale will come around. He can't be mad at me forever, right?

I sigh and look around. The sun is now high in the sky, and it's probably around noon. A bead of sweat has begun to cling to the back of my neck, and I feel the heat of the day for the first time since coming to the lake.

"Come on, girl," I say as I tuck her under one arm. I retrieve my arrow from the tree and stash it back in my quiver. "We've got a proclamation of love to write."

As I turn my back on the lake, I feel as though my father is smiling at me. Unable to help myself, I turn around to face the lake again. The peace and beauty it radiates causes a small smile to pull at my lips. "Thanks, dad," I say softly before resuming my trek through the woods.

It takes me a good two hours to reach the log where I hide my bow and quiver. By now it's probably two or three in the afternoon, and the sweltering heat is getting to me. The pup in my arms began to pant about half an hour ago. Speaking of the pup, I realize when I reach the fence that I can't really waltz into town carrying a wolf. If people recognized her for what she was, everyone would begin to fight for her, wanting to keep her until she'd grown so that they could kill her for her meat and her pelt. The thought causes me to tighten my hold on her. I need a plan.

"Wait here, girl," I say as I set her down under a tree. "I'll be right back."

The pup looks at me steadily for a moment before lying down. I think I'll have a lot of fun training her. We'll be great partners.

I slip under the fence and hurry to my old house in the Seam. Technically, it's still my mother and Prim's legal residence. It's still the official Everdeen dwelling. So if I died, they would be kicked out of the house in the Victor's Village and be forced to move back into the Seam. I still keep my father's hunting jacket and some clothes here, but the object I require is my game bag. I grab it from its resting place, hanging on the back of one of our rickety kitchen chairs. Buttercup, Prim's ugly cat, hisses at me as I pass him. He doesn't like the new house in the Victor's Village, and I think he only journeys there for Prim. Absently, I wonder if my new pet will chase him off or something.

I'm barely in the house for thirty seconds before I'm making my way back to the meadow as fast as I can while remaining inconspicuous. A little rush of adrenaline is flowing through me, having my own little secret mission. It reminds me of a game I used to play with my father, when he'd send me out to get something and I would return it to him as fast as I could.

When I reach the fence, I gaze into the woods and smile when I see a tuft of grey and white fur. "Come here, girl," I call softly. "Come on."

Hesitantly, the pup eases out of the tree line and comes to the fence. I lift up the bottom of the fence with one hand and then pat the ground in front of me with my other hand. "Come on, girl," I encourage.

Seeming to gather courage, the pup suddenly dives under the fence and into my arms. I pet her and scratch behind her ears in praise. "That a girl," I say before gently placing her into my game bag. "You just stay quiet, alright?"

It occurs to me that aside from whimpering when she'd first emerged from the bushes, she hasn't made a sound. Not even when I cleaned her paw. So she's quiet like me, too.

I walk back to the Victor's Village as quickly as I can without seeming odd. When I reach the flower-boxed entrance, I slow my pace to a leisurely walk. I'm in the clear. Suddenly, I'm at a loss of what to do. Do I go to my house or Peeta's?

The feel of my shirt sticking to my back causes me to go to my house first. I open the door, and am relieved by the cool air that hits my skin. "Anyone home?" I call, but no one answers. Prim and my mother must still be making the rounds with her patients. Or maybe they're just in town. Now that we have money, my mother has been lingering in the dress shops, buying materials for dresses and sometimes one that is already made. This doesn't bother me. Almost all of it is for Prim, and I can think of no better way to spend the money that I have no idea what to do with.

I climb the stairs and enter my room. Only then do I take my puppy out of my game bag. Immediately, she's up and sniffing her new surroundings. I find her an old piece of leather to chew on before hopping into the shower. I wash away all the sweat and dirt from the woods, even washing my hair once more with the vanilla shampoo I'm growing addicted to. I towel off and change into clean clothes, another pair of jeans and an old, tattered t-shirt that I'm too fond of to throw away.

I keep my hair loose, letting it fall in waves down my back. As I pass by her, my little wolf pup jumps to her feet and follows me to the opposite end of the room. I sit down in the desk chair and take out a pen and a piece of paper. When I look down, I see that the pup is sitting at my feet.

"I really like you," I say as I reach down to quickly run my fingers down her back.

Idly, I realize that I should probably come up with a name for her, but nothing has come to mind yet. I refuse to name her something cliché, like Princess or Baby or Lady. No, this pup's name is going to fit her just right.

My eyes focus on the blank sheet of paper in front of me. I know that when Peeta suggested I do this, he wasn't serious. In fact, at the time, he was being sarcastic and rude, which was typically my role in our relationship. But I realize that if I tried to tell him how I felt, it would be a miracle if he managed to understand me because I would be bound to fumble and stutter my way through it.

At least if I write it down it will be coherent.

I stare at the paper, willing words to come to me. What do I say? Well, I know exactly how to start. I resolve to just go from there, and hope that I'm able to concoct some string of coherency.

_Peeta,_

_I'm not good with words . . ._

I pause and scowl. This is stupid. I should toss this into the trash and then march myself over to Peeta's house. I should storm into the 'mystery room' or his bedroom or wherever he is, grab him by the shoulders, and then kiss him like my life depends on it. He'd know I love him then, right?

I shake my head. No. No, I've got to do this. I don't know if it's the unspoken challenge, or the fact that some part of me knows that my more . . . _proactive_ plan of convincing Peeta of my feelings would probably only confuse him more, but I force myself to continue writing. This is for Peeta. Somehow, I know that the fact that I actually sat down to write out my feelings for him will mean more than any dramatic embrace.

_I know you weren't serious when you asked me to do this, but I'm going to give it my best shot. This is my proclamation of undying love for you. I think I might even sign and date it at the bottom. Maybe even get Prim to sign as a witness._

I can't help but smile at the thought. However, I quickly refocus my attention to the paper in front of me. What do I say next?

_I have to apologize. That day along the train tracks is my fault. I should have answered you. I should have reassured you, but I was scared. My past was colliding with my present, and I didn't know how they were going to exist together. My past was holding me back, but I've dealt with that now so . . . I'm all yours._

Okay. That sounds good, doesn't it? Yeah. Now, on to the mushy part. I feel a slight flush heat my cheeks as I think of what I'm going to write. He's not even present, and he's still capable of making me blush.

_I may have realized my love for you during the Games, but it's always been there, I think, ever since that day in the rain. Peeta, you make me feel so much at one time that it seems impossible. There's nothing more comforting than your arms around me. There's nothing better than your lips on mine. There's no greater feeling of love than when I'm with you. You give me hope, Peeta, and that's a feeling that I've gone too long without._

_I won't lie and say that what I feel for you doesn't scare me. I've never felt so intensely and deeply as I do for you. But, I think, as long as you are here, I'll be okay. _

_My father once told me that love is worth the risk, and you've proved that to be true. Because there is no greater happiness than when I'm with you . . . only you can make me this happy._

_You can also make me mad as hell, but I love you, and that will always trump whatever else I feel. Always, my love for you will win out. I've realized, with a little help from Prim, that love is a strength that can't be beaten. Since both of us are alive right now, I think we've proved that._

_This is my proclamation of my undying love for you, Peeta Mellark._

_I love you,_

_Katniss_

I read over my letter, a proud smile pulling at my lips. It may not be much, but it's how I feel, so he better just get over it. I look down at the pup at my feet. "Time to meet Peeta."

Her ears actually perk up in attention.

"Let's just hope that he's not allergic to you."

* * *

**Aw . . . go Katniss for doing something right when it concerns emotions. Oh, the progress that has been made. Let us rejoice.**

**So . . . we met our new character that has yet to be named. This little furry friend might seem kinda pointless, but I promise you she is not. She has a legitimate purpose that will be touched on briefly in this story, but is very critical to Mockingjay, as I said in the beginning A/N. Hopefully, you like her!**

**As for the next chapter . . . Peeta is back! Yay! What will his reaction be to Katniss's letter? **

**Since I've had some questions about whether I'll be giving quotes from my Mockingjay rewrite (like I gave MLB quotes during STWOM) I've decided to address it. While I _will_ give out Mockingjay teaser quotes, I won't start that until probably about halfway through this story. Until then, I've decided that I'll give a teaser quote to the next chapter in this story.**

**So, next chapter's little preview comes from Peeta. "Why is there a dog in my house?"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Guys, you are too amazing. Seriously, I've already got 271 reviews? For 3 chapters? You do realize how utterly awesome you guys are, right? I think you're starting to show off.**

**So, naturally, please continue. :)**

**This chapter is the shortest chapter of the entire story. Actually, from Chapter 5 onward, the chapters(without A/Ns) will be at least 4,000 words or higher. Usually higher. So, needless to say you guys will have plenty to read. The entire story is just under 167,000 words, so you will be occupied. :)**

**Also, I'm glad most of you liked the furry addition introduced during the last chapter. She has some cutsie moments in this chapter, especially if you're a dog-lover like me.**

**Today's new quote to add to the disclaimer comes from _The Wizard of Oz!_**

**********Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"

* * *

Chapter 4

I have never been so nervous in my life. This is truly saying something, because I've won the Hunger Games. Things don't get much scarier than that . . . or so I thought. I should have just marched over to his house, cornered him, and then kissed him. Yep. That's what I should have done. Kissing doesn't involve speaking. I'm much better with actions than I am with words.

A sigh escapes me as I stare at Peeta's front door. I'm stalling, I know. Because why do I need to note that the door is painted a navy blue? Or the fact that a fly is buzzing at the top of the doorframe? Then there's a little crack in the paint at the top left hand corner of the door that's barely visible . . .

_Come on, Katniss. _ I scold myself. _You can do this. You love him. He loves you. You've just got to say it._

I glance down at the pup at my feet. She's looking up at me expectantly, like she's just waiting for me to knock on the door. Wait, should I knock? I didn't before. Should I now, though? I did leave his house in a righteous fury last time, slamming the door behind me as hard as I could.

I still feel a hint of pride at that.

Gathering my courage, I decide to just let myself in like I did before. If Peeta truly loves me, he'll love me for who I am, and I'm really not all that considerate and polite, Effie Trinket can attest to that. Quietly, I open the door and step into the foyer, closing the door behind me once the pup is by my side once again. Just like earlier, the downstairs is dark and quiet, but I hear Peeta's loud footfalls shuffling around upstairs.

My feet carry me up the staircase, though I make sure to skip the squeaky third step. However, sometimes I have to slow my pace, because whereas I simply climb the stairs, the pup has to hop up the stairs. I feel a smile tug at my lips. She really is a cute little thing.

Once the pup and I have reached the second floor, my nerves return tenfold. Have I done the right thing? Will Peeta accept my letter? Or will he crumple it up and toss it back in my face? No. Even at his worst, Peeta wouldn't do something so cruel. Hell, it's impossible for Peeta to be cruel anyway. Peeta will always be Peeta, pure and kind-hearted.

I repeat this thought in my head over and over, as if repitition will make it undeniably true. It certainly makes me feel a little bit more confident. Worst case scenario, Peeta doesn't love me anymore and only wants to be friends . . . if that's even possible. I don't know if I could ever be 'just friends' with Peeta. Not after all we've been through.

Best case scenario is that he loves me, we both apologize for being idiots, and everything will slowly get better. I would also be open to a kiss or two . . . or three . . .

I stare at the door in front of me. The second door on the left, Peeta's secret room that even Rye doesn't know the goings-on of. The pup suddenly sneezes, and my nose crinkles as I smell the same thing she does. Acrylic paint.

Is that what Peeta's doing in there? Painting?

"Katniss?"

I whirl around in the direction the voice came from. My eyes land on Peeta, who is standing at the end of the hallway having just come out of his bedroom. I immediately notice that his hair is wet, which leads me to believe that he just got out of the shower. An image of Peeta in the shower quickly invades my mind, and I beat it back in an instant. This is not the time for me to be thinking of . . .

Stop that!

I'm sure I'm blushing now, and Peeta is looking at me oddly. "Why is there a dog in my house?"

I look down to my furry companion and then back at Peeta. "You're not allergic, are you?"

"No."

"Oh, good."

"Still didn't answer my question."

"Oh, well, she's sort of mine. And she's a wolf, not a dog."

"A wolf?"

"Yeah."

"Like the big, menacing kind that attacks and eats people?"

"Sometimes."

"Oh, okay."

Peeta and I look at each other for a moment before we both burst into laughter. The tension from this morning is still present in the air, and we've both cracked under the pressure. Unable to stay on my feet due to my laughter, I slowly slide down to the floor, leaning my back against the wall. It feels good to laugh though, especially considering the day I've had.

When my laughter dies down and I look up, Peeta is sitting beside me, looking serious and apologetic. All thoughts of laughter vanish. "I'm sorry, Katniss," he says softly. "I shouldn't have said those things. I shouldn't have doubted you."

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. You had every right to doubt me," I argue, shaking my head. "I should have given you an answer."

"I should have given you more time," he continues to apologize. "I've had eleven years to get used to the idea of being in love with you, and you've barely had any time in comparison. Your entire outlook changed, and it was wrong of me to just expect you to—"

I can't take it anymore. The closeness. The electricity humming between us. His rambling apology that makes me think that we might work things out . . . it's too much to take and my control snaps. I kiss him, cutting off the rest of his apology. It only takes me a second to realize that it's been far, far too long since I last kissed him. Our lips move frantically together, and my blood is zinging with adrenaline and that fire that only Peeta can coax. My fingers thread through his hair as Peeta deepens the kiss, swallowing the moan that escapes me at the sensation of his tongue dancing with mine.

I'm pretty sure we would have kept kissing until we were both about to die from lack of oxygen, but my little wolf pup had other plans. We break apart when she jumps on us, her cold nose tickling my cheek before she starts to lick my face.

Peeta chuckles. "Looks like I have competition."

I laugh as I stare at the pup, which is standing up in my lap, her two front paws on my shoulders. "She's just going to have to accept you into our pack."

"Let me guess, you get to be the alpha," Peeta teases and I scoff.

"I will allow you to rule by my side, of course."

"Thanks for that."

"Oh." I reach into my pocket and fish out my letter. I can't believe I almost forgot about it. However, now that I stop and think, the letter has been burning a hole into my pocket this entire time. My heart begins to pound as I hand the folded piece of paper to him. "That's for you," I say quickly, practically shoving it into his hands.

Peeta raises his eyebrows at me curiously before diverting his attention to the letter. I hold the pup close to my chest, my fingers entangled in her fur as I watch Peeta unfold the paper and begin to read. Almost immediately, he looks up at me and I know he's about to apologize some more.

"At least read it before you start to apologize," I tell him. Peeta opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. "Read it."

His blue eyes return to the paper, and I watch his reaction as he reads. I see guilt, surprise, amusement, and then love. Lots and lots of love. For me. I can't help but smile.

When he's finished reading, he doesn't immediately look up. Instead, he continues to stare at the letter. Whether he's just staring through it or rereading it, I don't know, but the longer the silence stretches between us, the more anxious I feel. Maybe I read him wrong. Maybe he doesn't like it. Maybe he doesn't love me. Maybe our previous kiss was a goodbye.

Just when I think I'm about to combust, Peeta looks up at me. "You didn't have to do this," he says softly. _Lovingly_.

I feel my tense muscles relax. "I think I did." I thread my fingers through his and lean my head on his shoulder, smiling when he releases my hand in favor of wrapping his arm around me. "You needed to hear it, and I needed to get all those thoughts out of my head."

"I'm sorry," Peeta apologizes, and this time I don't interrupt, knowing that if I don't let him get it out of his system, he'll be guilty for weeks. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I almost hate that more than what I said."

"Why?"

"It reminds me too much of my mother," Peeta admits. "Yelling all the time."

"Peeta, you are nothing like that witch," I say, lifting my head off his shoulder to look him in the eye. "Got it? You are the kindest, most selfless person I know, alright? Aside from Prim," I can't help but add, and Peeta smiles a little.

But his weak attempt at a smile doesn't last long. "I can't believe I said those things," he says guiltily. "I was trying to hurt you like you hurt me, and that wasn't fair."

"All of this is my fault anyway, Peeta," I tell him. "If I had just told you—"

"I shouldn't have reacted so badly," Peeta interrupts. "I should have known you'd need some time and space."

"Hmm, maybe not space," I argue lightly as I lay my head on his shoulder and nuzzle his neck.

Peeta chuckles and holds me tighter. I feel his lips in my hair. "I am sorry, Katniss. Really."

My lips brush his neck. "So am I."

We sit there in the hallway in silence for a long time, just holding each other and soaking up the comfort that each of us have gone too long without. It's only when the pup begins to grow tired of the inattention and starts attacking us with little nips and nuzzles that we speak.

"You know, you've got to give her a name," Peeta says as he ruffles her fur.

I sigh. "I know, but I can't think of one that works."

"What about Effie?"

I laugh. "No. I don't think so."

"Molly?"

"No."

"Lucy?"

"No."

"Jenny?"

"No."

"Sasha?"

"No."

"You're killing me here," Peeta complains, but he doesn't give up. "Maggie?"

"No."

"Oh, come on. It's a cute name!"

"She's not a Maggie," I say definitively and Peeta huffs in frustration.

"Princess Bopalapashamalama Ding-Dong!" he suggests wildly.

I stare at Peeta oddly. "Have you been sniffing paint?"

"How do you know I've been painting?" Peeta asks confused.

"I don't know, the smell of acrylic paint was a clue," I say before I smile. "But the green paint behind your ear is a dead giveaway."

"Seriously?" Peeta brings up a hand to check behind his ear. "I thought I got it all."

"Missed a spot."

"Obviously."

I laugh lightly. The contrast between how I was feeling earlier today and how I am feeling now is so different that it's almost giving me whiplash. This morning I was so sure that I was either going to lose Peeta or Gale, or, worst case scenario, both. But then I went to the lake and found a wolf pup, and suddenly she made everything clear.

"Maya," I say suddenly.

"Maya?"

"That's her name," I say as I look at the wolf pup, which is looking back at me attentively. "Maya."

Peeta contemplates the name. "I like it," he declares before looking around. "What do you say we get out of the hallway? It's about time to eat."

I'm reminded that I haven't eaten all day. "Sounds like a good idea."

It takes maybe an hour, but together, Peeta and I discover that we can put together quite a meal. I deal with the meat, and he deals with the bread. We combine our efforts with the greens, and when we're done we are thoroughly impressed with ourselves and the mouth-watering aroma coming from the kitchen.

Maya is too, because she's been following us around since we started cooking, hoping that we'll drop scraps onto the floor. It's safe to say that this wolf will be spoiled because I'm guilty of giving her all the fat and trimmings from the meat and Peeta gave Maya a spoonful of gravy to taste test. At least, that was his excuse.

When we sit down at the table, an awkward tension fills the air as we begin to eat. It occurs to me that is the first time I've been alone with Peeta without any cameras on us in the past month. And so much as changed between us since before the Games that our repertoire of stilted, monosyllabic conversations are null and void at this point. There's just something inadequate about simply saying 'hi' to someone who you survived the Hunger Games with.

Our silence continues until we're both about halfway through the meal, before Peeta drops his fork onto his plate. "This is ridiculous," he says. "We should not be this awkward."

My lips twitch as I fight a smile. "No," I agree.

"We're just having dinner," Peeta says casually. "Just dinner."

"But it's kind of like a date."

"Yeah. Kind of."

"An unofficial date," I suggest and Peeta nods.

"Unofficial," he agrees. "Because, if you think about it, our first date went horribly wrong."

A burst of incredulous laughter escapes me. "You count the Games as a date?"

"One that went horribly wrong."

"Peeta, you were on your deathbed twice," I remind him.

"Like I said, it was a date that went horribly wrong," Peeta repeats with a smile.

"You're impossible," I mutter as I return to my food, though I'm grateful that Peeta has somehow managed to diffuse the tension.

"We should go on a date," Peeta says after another minute. "A real one. Very official."

I smile, leaning forward. "And what would we do?"

"It would have to be a combined effort," Peeta says with a grin.

"Well, we're a pretty good team," I reply. It occurs to me that I'm actually flirting. Me. Katniss Everdeen. Flirting.

Strange.

"Yeah, so I'll bring the food, you choose the location," Peeta suggests conspiratorially. "Somewhere nice and open and green. Lots of trees."

If Peeta is meaning to be subtle about suggesting that I take him into the forest for our date, then he's doing a very poor job. Or he's trying to be funny or charming. Either way, I'm smiling. "I think I now a place."

"Fantastic. It's a date."

* * *

**And there we are! Kiss and makeup, PK are on their way to recovery. I've got to admit that the scene between them when Peeta first notices Maya is one of my favorite bits of dialogue in the entire story. It's just so cute! Katniss admits that the wolf beside her is the same kind that sometimes attacks and eats people. Peeta's response? "Oh, okay."**

**Cracks me up everytime.**

**So . . . next chapter is a time jump. Chapter 5 picks up the morning of the Victory Tour, so that's relatively five or six months in the future. Lots of character evolution can occur within that time frame, and I'm excited for you guys to read the PK that I've created, one that's secure in their relationship and happy. It definitely puts a different spin on things, as PK will address everything as a team, rather than hiding things from each other and keeping the other out of the loop. Let's just hope everything flows from one chapter to the next. lol**

**Alas, I must give you a quote from the next chapter! Hmm . . . let's go with Peeta, again . . . he's the one with funny lines . . .**

**"You've got to be kidding me. The wolf gets kisses, and I get shut down. Nice."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	5. Chapter 5

**********A/N: Wow. I cannot fathom the response that I've recieved for this story! Dudes, you guys are so unbelievably epic in your awesomeness. Granted, that's not my most grammatically correct sentence I've ever written, but I think it accurately conveys my point.**

**********So, aside from the fact that you guys are fantastic, this chapter is when all the fun begins! Prepare to go where no HG reader/author has ever gone before, and let us embrace a PK that is strong and secure in their love and tackle things head-on like the awesome duo that they are. Yes, be excited. I am.**

**********Also, just because I love you guys so much, I decided to give you guys a saucy scene this chapter. If you remember my definition of 'saucy scene' from STWOM, hopefully you're kinda giddy right now. This SS is more humorous than hot 'n heavy, but hey, it's still a lot of fun. ;)**

**********So, without further ado . . .**

**********Today's movie quote comes from _Robin Hood: Men in Tights_.**

**********Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."

* * *

Chapter 5

My eyes flutter open, and I immediately squeeze them shut, as if by willing myself back to sleep today will never happen. As long as I don't open my eyes I will stay where I am, which is safe and warm in Peeta's arms in his bed. I can tell by the deep, slow breaths fanning the back of my neck that he's still asleep, and I don't want to wake him, but this doesn't stop me from leaning back into his chest. Peeta's arms tighten around me subconsciously, and I can't help but smile a little.

The past few months have, surprisingly enough, been some of my happiest. Our first 'official' date had been a picnic in the woods, which we had decided the evening before during that first, awkward dinner. Peeta, as promised, had brought the food. Bread, cheese, fruit, and other foods that he deemed 'picnic worthy.' It had actually been fun, sneaking off into the woods with Peeta and watching him struggle to slide his broad frame under the fence.

I hadn't initially planned on it, but I had taken him to the lake, a place that I had only ever shared with my father and Gale. It was almost like Peeta knew without asking that the lake was special to me, because the moment we broke through the trees to gaze upon the lake, he'd given me one of the gentlest, sweetest kisses.

That picnic at the lake was perfect, and the memory never fails to bring a smile to my face whenever I think of it. Especially the particular vision of Peeta, flailing wildly, as I'd tried to teach him how to swim. I suppose I could have actually _asked_ if he wanted to learn. Spontaneously shoving him into the water was probably a bad idea in hindsight, but seriously, it was only four feet deep at the spot where I'd pushed him in . . .

But I am proud to say that Peeta Mellark now knows how to swim.

The rest of our dates were equally eventful in a multitude of ways. I almost blew up the oven when he tried to teach me to bake bread, a surprisingly complicated simple task. And then Peeta almost shot me when I'd tried to teach him how to shoot a bow. It seemed that no matter how hard we tried, we could never do anything without adding just a hint of danger. Or maybe we were both accident prone and danger magnets.

Probably a bit of both.

Maya, of course, is always with us. Now practically full-grown, her hackles almost meet my hips, and she's practically as long as I am tall. We take Maya everywhere, or rather, she follows us everywhere. To the woods (she's a great hunting partner if she doesn't begin to eat the kill before I get to it). To town (she's great at scaring people, particularly Peeta's mother, which never fails to make me smile). To Haymitch's (she and he both pretend to loathe each other, but I know otherwise).

I don't hesitate to bring Maya into town with me anymore, because there's no one who would dare try and take her from me, even the Peacekeepers. That, and Maya can revert to her true, wild form in an instant. No one really has the guts to approach a growling wolf, sharp teeth on display.

But that only happened once.

Peeta jokes that Maya and I share a telepathic link. Sometimes I think he's right because Maya seems to know what I'm thinking. In the past six months, I've trained her to do just about everything. All I have to do is speak one command or make a hand motion and Maya obeys me without question.

I'm the only one she obeys though. Everyone else is on their own in getting her to do what they want, though Maya seems to have a soft spot for Prim. Apparently, Prim's loving nature influences all creatures. Not that I was surprised.

But one thing that did surprise me was Haymitch, and how he has entangled his way into our little family. He usually eats dinner with Peeta and I at least once a week, and typically, Peeta will brave the reek and filth of Haymitch's house to take him some solid food and make sure he hasn't choked on his own vomit after a heavy night of drinking.

But those days are actually growing to be fewer and fewer and I have no doubt that it is because of Prim. Initially, I was not at all thrilled when my sweet, precious Prim told me that she wanted to be Haymitch's friend. I'd asked her why, and she'd replied, sadly and sympathetically, "Because I don't think he has many friends, Katniss. Everyone needs friends."

Needless to say, Prim has wormed her way into Haymitch's heart. They play chess every Wednesday afternoon, and from Haymitch's mumbled cursing every now and then, Prim's skills are growing in leaps and bounds.

These months have also surprised me by mending my relationship with my mother. Encouraged by Peeta, I've made an effort the past few months to try to forgive her for leaving after my father died. I let her do little things for me without putting up a fuss, and I even _ask_ her to do things for me. I've given her control over my winnings, and she keeps up with all the money in a ledger book. I still remember the day when I actually returned her hug instead of simply tolerating it. She'd had tears in her eyes.

But of all my relationships that I've made or made better, there is one that I've been unable to reach. Gale. It seems as though the closer Peeta and I continue to grow together, the farther Gale drifts from me. I still remember the days when we could communicate with a single look. Long days hunting in the woods, laughing and joking. But now I hardly ever see him.

This isn't entirely my fault though. Gale works twelve hour shifts in the mines, and is only off on Sunday. I still hunt, not only because it is a part of me and helps keep me sane, but because I still feel the commitment to help provide for Gale's family, for his mother Hazelle and the kids. I know that if our situation had been reversed, and Gale had won the Games instead of me, he would still be out hunting to help provide.

However, when I drop off the meat, it's always Hazelle that greets me at the door. I make sure to come by when I know that Gale isn't there, especially after the one time when he answered the door and then promptly shut it in my face. Hazelle apologized and apologized, but I'd waved her off. Gale was angry at me. I'd hurt him. He had every right to not want to see me.

But that doesn't mean that his distance doesn't hurt. Gale will always be my best friend, and it hurts not to have him fill that role.

Peeta, of course, keeps insisting that Gale will come around, though initially he was always quiet when the subject of Gale came up. I still remember the day when we really talked about it, what had kept me from telling Peeta that I loved him that day on the train tracks.

We had been sitting quietly in the sitting room. Maya, as usual, was curled at my feet, her muzzle actually resting on my foot. There is a book that my mother has, an apothecary book that contains information about various medicinal herbs. My father had added to it though, writing down plants that could be eaten and used in other ways. I decided to add to it as well, writing down my knowledge and things that I'd learned in the past five years. Peeta would draw the plants for me, even coloring them until they looked so real I thought they might jump out of the page.

It was on this night, while I was working on my book and Peeta was sketching on a special notebook, that he broke the silence. "In your letter," he said, referring to my written proclamation of love. He keeps it in the top drawer of his nightstand, and I've caught him rereading it a time or two, a smile always playing at the edges of his lips. "What did you mean when you said that you'd dealt with your past?"

My hand had paused in its writing as I'd looked up at him. It had only been a few weeks since the letter, and honestly, I'd been waiting for him to ask about that particular part. I simply hadn't been looking forward to answering. "Gale."

Peeta nods, as if this was the answer he'd been expecting. "I thought so."

"He kissed me." The words had escaped me without my permission and Peeta's eyes had narrowed.

"Did he?"

"Yeah," I said. "He'd told me how it made sense for me and him to be together. And I mean, it does make sense. We're both cut from the same cloth, and we're so alike. If I had just let myself, it would have been so easy to fall in love with him."

"But?" Peeta questioned, looking worried even though he knows that I've chosen him. There was never really a choice to make.

"It was always you Peeta," I assured him, hiding my amusement when he relaxed in relief. "Ever since that day in the rain. Because, that night, you gave me hope. You gave me the courage to hope for something better, and that is something that I'll never be able to repay you for."

"Let's not get into that whole 'owing' debacle," he said. It was a subject on which we'd never agree so by mutual agreement we simply left it alone. "I hate that he's hurting you, though."

I shrugged. "I hurt him."

"Still, he shouldn't be ignoring you. If he truly cares about you, he'll realize that it's better to have you in his life as a friend, a good friend, than to not have you in his life at all."

I still hope that Peeta's right.

Speaking of Peeta, I feel him begin to stir behind me. I know he's awake when I feel his lips on my neck. "How long have you been awake?" he murmurs sleepily against my skin, his voice a half octave lower than normal.

I turn in his embrace so that we're chest to chest, facing each other. "About half an hour or so," I reply as I trail my fingers absently over his bare chest.

It's crazy to think how our relationship as evolved in the past six months. If you'd told me about seven months ago that I would be sharing a bed with Peeta Mellark, letting his hands wander all over me and touch me in places that I never dreamed of letting anyone go near, I would probably have shot you in the face. Because seven months ago, I didn't even believe in love, let alone all the intimacy that came with it.

But, as my father had so wisely said, love was worth the risk. It didn't mean that I still didn't get scared. Sometimes, I was terrified by what I felt, and Peeta would have to reassure me that everything was okay. But I fought through my doubts and insecurities each time, and I'd like to think that I've come out stronger for it.

Peeta and I have yet to make that final leap though. We have yet to, 'go all the way' as I've heard it so often put in school. I'm okay with this though, because I know that I'm not ready for sex and I don't think that Peeta is either. Also, I get the sense that Peeta would like to be married before we made that final step.

Married. Fear rushes through me, but I bat it back. The thought has popped up into my mind only a couple of times, both because Peeta prompted it. I know he wants to get married someday, he's told me so. I'd balked, saying that I didn't want kids. And Peeta had reminded me, with some amusement, that just because two people were married did not mean that they had to 'put a bun in the oven' right off the bat. Bakers and their bread puns. I will never be able to escape them.

But Peeta's words had reassured me, and the idea of marriage didn't seem quite so terrifying.

"You ready for today?" Peeta asks me, regaining my attention as my eyes flit up to meet his.

"Are you?" I return, my eyebrows raised.

"No."

"Then you've got my answer."

"We'll get through it," Peeta assures me as his hand trails down my arm before settling at the dip in my waist. He leans in and captures my lips in a sweet kiss. "It's just the Victory Tour."

I almost scoff. 'Just the Victory Tour.' The Victory Tour is a weeks long event where the Victor of the Hunger Games that year makes the rounds, visiting each district before finally reaching the Capitol for the grand finale. It's a tour where Peeta and I will be thrown parties at each district, watching as the people pretend to love us and seeing the resentment of the families of the tributes who didn't make it home. _Victory Tour_ in my mind was synonymous with _Hell_.

The Victory Tour is simply a way for the Capitol to keep the horror of the Games fresh in everyone's minds, specifically held midway between the recent Games and the reaping for the next. It's all a power play. Showing its iron grip on the entirety of Panem. It's all a big show, and this year I get to be one of the stars.

"Do you know when our prep teams and everyone else is showing up?" I ask. They'd called and told us of course, but Peeta is the one who actually pays attention and remembers that kind of stuff.

Peeta leans up and glances at the clock on the nightstand. "About another two hours. They're supposed to be here at eight."

Two more hours until my prep team goes to work on me, pulling at my hair, the dreaded wax I know I'm going to get, the manicured nails. All of it is an experience I could gladly go without. The only bright side is that Cinna will be there, and I've missed him, even though we talk on the phone practically every day.

You see, every Victor has to have a talent to show the Capitol at the end of the Tour. Peeta, of course, is going to show off his paintings. They're beautiful, the ones he has let me see at least. Even _I'm_ not allowed to go into his art studio. I only see the paintings he brings out to show me. Radiant sunsets. Fields of flowers. The mountains. He even painted our day at the lake, but he's keeping that one in District 12. That was mine and my father's secret place, and now I share its beauty with Peeta. He knows how much it means to me to keep it secret.

My talent, however, is nonexistent. Peeta suggested I sing, but I shot it down immediately. I was not going to sing for the Capitol, especially not after the Games and Rue. My mother and Prim and I had gone through the list of appropriate talents for a Victor that Effie had sent. We'd gone through each one, and more often than not, I was terrible at whatever it was and Prim was contrastingly good. This included playing the flute, art, flower arranging, and a whole list of others. Finally, Cinna had stepped in and suggested that I do design, specifically fashion. So, in other words, Cinna went to work, coming up with dozens of wonderful designs and when we got to the Capitol I would take all the credit. I felt slightly guilty about taking credit for his work, but Cinna shrugged me off, saying that he designed because he loved it, not because he got recognition for it—even if it was nice on occasion, he'd added with a smile in his voice.

"So what do you want to do for the next hour and a half before you have to sneak back to your house?" Peeta asks with a conspiratorial smile, and I can't help but laugh.

Though I practically live with Peeta, my mother still expects me to sleep in my own bed. I'm supposed to be home every night by ten o' clock, and she has come knocking on Peeta's door more than once when I tried to wheedle five more minutes out of her. Of course, this decree does not deter me from sneaking into Peeta's bed every night.

It's not as if I'm sneaking out to have sex. One, because Peeta and I haven't had sex yet, even if we've done other things that I still can't even think about without blushing. Early on, we really did only sleep. It was simply the comfort and safety that Peeta's arms provided that I craved. I had gotten so used to his embrace during the Games. And, with Peeta holding me at night, my nightmares were usually kept at bay. It has only been the past two months or so when things started to get a little . . . intimate . . . when Peeta and I would do more than simply sleep.

"Why are you blushing?" Peeta asks and I flush brightly and bury my face into his chest.

"Nothing," I deny and Peeta chuckles.

"Liar," he whispers, his lips tickling my ear. "So what do you want to do in that hour and a half?"

"I want to stay right here," I say.

"That sounds like a great idea," Peeta says before gripping my hips and rolling onto his back, and subsequently causing me to be lying on top of him.

Before I can say anything to object, not that I would anyway, Peeta's kissing me. I shift so that I'm straddling his hips, and I feel Peeta's hand settle on my thigh. The other hand slips under my tank top to touch the bare skin of my back, and I can't help but shiver. Peeta smiles into our kiss at my reaction, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Male pride is as annoyingly amusing as it can be irritating. In retaliation, I break our kiss and begin to trail kisses along his jaw line until I reach that spot behind his ear that I know drives him crazy. As I expected, a low growl rumbles in his chest and I can't help but smile at my victory.

Suddenly, Peeta switches our positions again so that he's hovering over me. "That wasn't fair," he says as he begins to kiss and suck a spot on my collarbone.

"I never play fair," I breathe before fighting back a moan as his hand comes up to cup my breast.

"Hmm, neither do I," he says before his lips return to my collarbone.

"So help me Peeta, you better not leave a mark," I warn him as sternly as I can in my breathlessness. "I'd never hear the end of it from my prep team."

Peeta looks up at me, amused. "What? They'd tease you?"

I shake my head. "Worse. They'd ask for details."

Peeta breaks into a fit of laughter before containing himself. "And what would you say?"

"I'd tell them to use their imaginations."

Peeta raises his eyebrows. "You think that's smart?"

I think of my prep team. "Oh, god, that'd be worse, wouldn't it? Who knows what they'd come up with."

Peeta grins in response, and then he's kissing me again, though he does refrain from returning to that spot on my collarbone. I'm thankful he's always so considerate. I greedily caress every inch of his skin that is available to me, loving the feel of his flexing muscles underneath my fingertips. Peeta's hands are not idle either, because they're beginning to wander further and further south, and my stomach is already tightening in anticipation. Just when I feel his hand at the waistband of my underwear, I remember something important.

"Haymitch!" I say breaking our kiss in a breathy pant.

Peeta looks at me incredulously. _"What?"_

"Haymitch," I repeat, already beginning to squirm out from under him, much to Peeta's dismay and disappointment. "I promised that I'd wake him up an hour before everyone arrived."

I'm out of bed by now and pulling off clothes that Peeta hadn't yet managed to remove, as I walk across the room to his dresser. I have a drawer just for me that I keep stocked with t-shirts and jeans, though I've switched out the t-shirts with sweaters for the cold weather. I can feel Peeta's eyes on me, and I look over my shoulder to see him gaping at me.

Peeta may be the kindest, most selfless person I know, but he's still a male. And right now, he's not too happy about the abrupt change of events. "Seriously?" he asks as he watches me dress, a look almost resembling horror on his face. "First you stop me from, well, you know . . ." Peeta begins to stammer. He always teases me for blushing, and I tease him for stammering. An incoherent Peeta is very amusing. "And now you . . . you just . . . toss your clothes off . . . right in front of me, and . . ." Peeta huffs, flustered. "Not cool!" he surmises.

I can't help but laugh at him as I pull a sweater on over my head. I walk over to the bed and sit down on the edge, taking his hand in both of mine, not bothering to hide my smirk at the pitiful expression on his face. "You'll survive," I tease, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

All of this time, Maya has been laying on the floor at the foot of the bed, patiently waiting for me to give her some attention. But, apparently, she thinks that she's waited long enough because she jumps up on the bed and crawls over Peeta to demand my attention. I pet her enthusiastically and give her a kiss. "You've got to be kidding me," Peeta deadpans. "The wolf gets kisses and I get shut down. Nice."

"Come on, Maya," I say and she immediately hops off the bed to come stand by my side. I look at Peeta. "Are you going to come with me, or not?"

"Oh, sure," Peeta says grumpily as he climbs out of bed. I let my eyes run appreciatively over his bare torso. Peeta notices and grumbles, "Don't expect me to strike a pose," but I see the corner of his lips quirk up. Yep, male pride.

In five minutes, Peeta and I are bundled up in our coats and are out the door, Maya following, as we head to Haymitch's house. While mine and Peeta's houses are bright and reflect life, Haymitch's house only reflects a dreary neglect, despite the groundskeeper's best efforts. "Ready?" Peeta asks before he opens the door.

I cover my nose with my scarf and nod.

Peeta takes a deep breath of clean, cold air, relishing it, before opening the door and plunging into the foul stench of Haymitch's house. Years of neglect, compiled with the stench of trash, rotting food, alcohol, and vomit, have created the foulest reek in the history of smells. Maya keeps sneezing and seems to shrink back from it all, and I'm tempted to do the same.

I'm not surprised when we find Haymitch slumped over his kitchen table asleep, a bottle of spirits clutched in his hand. It's the day of the Victory Tour, and Haymitch will hate it just as much as Peeta and I, maybe more.

"Haymitch." Peeta nudges his shoulder, and our mentor's obnoxiously loud snores pause for a moment before resuming with renewed vigor. "Haymitch!" Peeta nudges him again, harder this time, but Haymitch still doesn't wake.

I decide that more drastic measures need to be taken, and glance around the trash-ridden kitchen countertop and spot an empty coffee tin. This will work fine. I set it under the sink and fill it with cold water. "Peeta you might want to move," I warn him a second before I dump the ice water on Haymitch's head.

It definitely does the trick. Haymitch springs up from his chair, sending it flying back behind him. I realize that I forgot something important, like the fact that Haymitch sleeps with a knife. Still in the throws of whatever nightmare he was in, he lunges at me with the knife. Maya growls sharply in warning, but I ignore her and easily catch Haymitch's wrist and wrest the knife from him.

"It's just me!" I shout as I hand the knife to Peeta.

"What are you doing?" Haymitch sputters before looking at Maya, who is still growling at him. "And I told you to keep that mutt out of my house!"

Maya takes a step toward him threateningly, but I hold her back. "Easy Maya," I say, scratching her behind the ears. Her growl abruptly cuts off, but she's still glaring at Haymitch and he willingly glares back.

"Don't know why you keep that thing," Haymitch mutters before looking down at his shirt. "Why am I all wet?" he asks, as if just noticing.

"You told me to wake you an hour before the cameras come," I remind him.

"What?"

"Your idea."

"So why am I all wet?" Haymitch asks again, the surliness in his tone becoming more and more prominent as he grows more aware.

"Peeta couldn't shake you awake," I explain and Haymitch looks at Peeta, just now realizing that he's there. "So I took initiative."

Haymitch glances at Peeta. "How do you stand her?" he asks. "Or do you like being ordered around? You into that kind of thing?"

I blush, and Peeta, always calm, simply laughs. "Do you really want to know the answer to that?" he asks.

Haymitch, rather recently, had the misfortune of walking in on Peeta and I in a compromising position. He didn't look surprised necessarily, but shocked. Definitely shocked. We had a long moment where Peeta and I simply stared at Haymitch and he back at us, before our mentor abruptly slammed the door. We heard him cursing all the way to his house.

Peeta and I laughed so hard that we couldn't breathe, but it still took me a whole week before I could look Haymitch in the eye again without blushing.

Haymitch glances from me to Peeta. "No. No I don't. I'm already scarred for life."

There's definitely more than one way to interpret that last statement, and I'm momentarily struck by a sense of pity for Haymitch, who has seen so many children die, had to mentor them to try and prepare them for the arena. I'm sure that, in the beginning, he really did try to help them, but I don't doubt that after a few years, I would start drinking the pain away. That was if I didn't have Peeta, of course.

And Peeta really does make all the difference.

"So be ready in an hour," Peeta tells him. "A shower would probably be a good idea."

Unable to stand the stench of Haymitch's house any longer, Maya and I escape through the front door and I greedily suck in the fresh, crisp air. Snow has begun to fall, dusting the ground in a fine, white powder. I feel Peeta come to stand beside me and we stand there a moment and watch the snow fall. It's not the first snowfall of the year, but I've always liked to watch the flakes dance down from the sky. Maya was a hilarious sight during that first snow day, biting at the air, trying to catch the snowflakes in her mouth.

I'm drawn out of the memory when I see Maya's ears perk up in my peripheral. I follow her line of sight and frown. "Peeta, I thought you said they weren't showing up until eight."

"They're not. They show up at eight, we're ready by eleven, we leave at noon," he recites from memory.

"Then why is a Capitol car outside my house?" I ask, an odd feeling of dread settling in my stomach.

Peeta is silent for a moment as he stares at the sleek, black car. "I don't know," he says eventually. "But there's only one way to find out." He takes my hand and interlocks our fingers. Even in the cold air, his hand is still warm and for some reason it relaxes me a little.

Together we cross the lawn, leaving footprints in the snow. I make sure to wipe my feet on the welcome mat in front of the door, knowing that my mother would throw a fit if I tracked in dirt and water on her clean floors. She was cleaning all day yesterday in preparation for everyone's arrival.

The moment Peeta and I cross the threshold, Maya is sniffing like crazy and a low growl begins to build in her throat. My mother hurries to meet us, looking pale and worried. What's happened? She glances down at Maya haltingly, and says, her voice slightly wavering, "Did you two enjoy your walk?" she asks. "How does Maya like the snow?"

I frown and glance at Peeta, but I notice that his eyes are not on me. I follow his gaze and see a tall man in a dark suit, and I instantly label him to be from the Capitol. The feeling of unease flares in my stomach again, and I tighten my hold on Peeta's hand.

"It was nice," I reply, before glancing down at Maya. "Hush," I tell her and she quiets, but she doesn't look happy about it.

My gaze returns to the Capitol man. "Who are you?" I ask.

He doesn't answer my question. "This way Miss Everdeen, Mr. Mellark," he says, gesturing down the hallway. I feel my ire rise at being directed about in my own house.

I glance at Maya. "Stay," I order and she makes a sound of discontent before moving off in the direction of the living room where I assume Prim is. Good. I really don't want the Capitol to know about my wolfy companion.

Peeta and I begin to move down the hallway, but I look over my shoulder to my mother, who is still pale and anxious. "Probably just more instructions for the Tour," I say, giving her a reassuring smile.

But the moment I turn away from her, my smile drops. Another man in black is standing outside the door to our little office/library; the room where Prim does her homework and my mother does her money-keeping.

The man doesn't say a word. Instead, he simply opens the door for us. Peeta, in a show of protectiveness that I haven't seen since the Games, pulls me slightly behind him and steps into the room a half step ahead of me. The scent of roses and blood assaults my nostrils, causing me to crinkle my nose in disgust. It's all I can do not to gag.

Peeta's hand tightens around mine almost painfully as he abruptly stops walking. I come to stand by his side, refusing to stay behind him like I know he would like me to. I can only deal with his protectiveness for so long. However, I'm worried when I notice that his entire body is tense and his eyes are trained on the man in front of him. The man is small and white-haired and currently reading a book. He holds up one finger in a "wait one moment" gesture. An agonizing second later, he looks up at us and it's like my blood turns to ice.

I'm staring into the dangerous, glinting eyes of President Snow.

* * *

**Rut roh.**

**So, PK is definitely a more serious, mature couple in my version, but that's not to say that they don't act like the teenagers they are. I had to make them more mature, but I couldn't just ignore the fact that they're teenagers. Hopefully I managed to walk a fine line without slipping and falling to my proverbial doom.**

**So, on that happy note, how about PK's humorous saucy scene? Yes. That one makes me smile. Plus, Peeta was stammering in that adorable way of his. Oh Katniss, the control you wield over that poor boy . . .**

**Anyhoo, guess you guys know what goes on the next chapter! But it's got a little different twist from the original since Peeta's there. You'll see a lot of foreshadowing for the events of MJ, particularly in Peeta's case.**

**Quote! I need to give you a quote from the next chapter. Hmm . . . who shall it be? Yes, I think the President deserves his say.**

**"You do have a way with words, Mr. Mellark."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: What's up, guys? I must say that I'm extra glad it's Friday. One, that means that my tests are done for the week. Two, a shopping spree awaits me this weekend. **

**And then an essay and a lot of French homework, but I'm not going to think about that right now.**

**Not much to say/ramble today. Weird. Guess I'll just cut right to the chapter, then.**

**Today's quote comes from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One._**

**********Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."

* * *

Chapter 6

I'm surprised that Peeta is not lying on the ground in pain, clutching his hand that I must surely be breaking with my iron grip. My only reassurance is the equally tight grip he has on my own hand. Peeta and I simply stand in front of the desk, staring at President Snow. I'm regarding him like I would the venomous snake he reminds me of—with caution—contemplating escape routes.

During the past few months, I have not forgotten the look he gave me when he crowned me Victor, all the hate, the blame that was gleaming menacingly in his serpentine eyes. But I admit that it had been thrust to the very back of my mind, my exploration of my love for Peeta and feeling it encompass me taking center stage, forcing away the unpleasantness of the Games and all its connections. I see now that my mind was only giving me a distraction, a lovely one for sure, but a distraction nonetheless from the danger that I sensed was coming. Any time my worry had fought through my love-dazed mind, and I'd voiced it, Peeta remained steadfast in his belief that it would all work out.

I have to fight the distinct urge, no matter the precarious situation, to break the silence and tell Peeta, "I told you so."

In reality, President Snow is the one who breaks the silence. He gestures to the chairs in front of the desk. "Let's sit."

It's spoken as a suggestion, but I know that it's not a request. With great reluctance, I let go of Peeta's hand and take a seat in the chair closest to me. I focus on the sting of blood rushing into my hand, trying to restore circulation. The pain is actually a good distraction because now that I don't have any connection to Peeta I feel more vulnerable than ever. A few moments ago we were a united front, like we were during the Games. But now, President Snow has forced us to separate. The phrase, "divide and conquer," flashes through my mind, and my gut clenches.

Despite the fear I feel, I'm still able to summon anger. I hate how President Snow has made me feel as though I'm an intruder in my own home, how I feel as though _I'm_ the stranger. It all goes back to power. Though this house is mine, ultimately, it's the Capitol's and therefore President Snow's. I hate how it seems that he always wins.

"I think we'll make this whole situation easier, if we agree not to lie to each other."

Peeta and I share a glance. "Yes, I think that would save time," I say, surprised when my voice comes out steady.

President Snow smiles, and I fight a shiver. His too-full, surgically-altered lips are stretched over his teeth, and I wonder how anyone thought that it might make his smile more personable. Personally, I think it was a waste of money because there's no way in hell that this snake could put anyone at ease with his smile.

The scent of roses and blood is stronger now that I'm closer to him, and I notice that there is a single, white rose in his lapel. So that's the source of the rose perfume, but I know that no ordinary rose could have an aroma so potent. It must be genetically enhanced.

I still don't understand where the smell of blood is coming from.

"My advisors were concerned that you might be difficult," he continues casually, though there is so much left unsaid in his tone. Danger. "But you're not planning on being difficult, are you?"

He glances from me to Peeta, but his gaze certainly lingers on me the longest. Peeta notices too because I see his fingers clench around the arm rest of his chair in my peripheral vision. "No," I say.

"Why would we be difficult?" Peeta asks, speaking for the first time, his voice measured.

"That's what I said," Snow says, sounding like he's trying to be humorous. "I said that any couple who goes to such lengths to preserve each other's life isn't going to be interested in throwing it away with both hands. And then there are your families to think about."

Peeta and I are statues. It doesn't take a genius to hear the very thinly veiled threat. My jaw clenches as Snow directs his eyes to me. "Your mother, your sister, and all those . . . cousins."

By the way he lingers on the word "cousins" I know that he means the Hawthornes, specifically Gale. You see, when the Capitol interviewed my family when I was in the final eight during the Games, they also asked about my friends. Of course, everyone directed them to Gale. And Gale, being as handsome and strong as he is, made the people uneasy. No one liked the idea of him being my friend, thinking that it would jeopardize my relationship with Peeta. A love triangle was the last thing that they wanted. So someone made up the lie that Gale was my cousin.

Obviously, it wasn't enough to fool President Snow.

He turns his gaze to Peeta. "And you, Mr. Mellark. You have quite the family, do you not? Your father, well, I hear he's a very well-loved man. And your brothers? Two of them, correct? One is quite the jokester . . . it would be a pity for one of his pranks to go wrong."

Peeta's eyes narrow, though the fear and worry filling his blue eyes is hardly hidden by the action.

_Rye_, I think. Snow is talking about Rye, the other Mellark that I've grown to be particularly fond of. Once you got over his almost obnoxious teasing and jokes, he had a heart of gold, just like Peeta. And Rye couldn't live with himself if he didn't make you smile at least once.

"I have a problem, you see," says President Snow. "A problem that began the moment you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena."

My mind instantly flashes back to that moment, the moment when Claudius Templesmith announced the rule change, when he said that Peeta and I would have to choose who lived and who died. There could only be one winner. I remember my and Peeta's argument, every word, as both of us fought to convince the other that they should be the one to live.

That was when I thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a way for both of us to live. Because, after all, the Games had to have a victor . . . but what if that option was taken away? So I had pulled out the berries, hoping that the Gamemakers would rather have two winners than none.

"If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd have blown both of you to dust right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?" Snow asks.

I nod because it's obvious by his inflection that Seneca Crane is dead.

"After that, there was nothing to do but let you play out your little scenario, the great love that you shared. The people in the Capitol were quite convinced. Unfortunately, not everyone in the districts fell for your act," he says.

"Act?" I question sharply. "It was no act."

Peeta shoots me a look of warning, but I ignore him and glare at Snow. I have enough of a time questioning my own feelings, and I do not need anyone else thinking that they have the brains to think that they know how I feel. Even President Snow.

"Oh, I believe you, Miss Everdeen," Snow assures me. "You misunderstand my words. When I say 'act' I mean to say that some people in the other districts, several of them in fact, saw your trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love. Of course, you have no access to information about the mood in other districts, so this should come as a surprise to you. But you see, the thing is that if a girl from District 12, of all places, can defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what is to stop them from doing the same? What is to prevent, say, an uprising?"

I'm stunned by his words. Uprisings? Because of my actions? I hadn't meant cause an uprising or start any form of rebellion. All I wanted was for Peeta to live.

"There have been uprisings?" Peeta asks.

I still can't get over the fact. Uprisings? I'm fearful and elated at the same time.

"Not yet. But they'll follow if the course of things doesn't change. And uprisings have been known to lead to revolution." President Snow's eyes seem to linger on Peeta in a way that I don't like, appraising. "You, Mr. Mellark, you're the one in the relationship that sees the big picture, aren't you? And you must realize what a revolution would mean? How many people would die? What conditions those left would have to face? Whatever problems anyone may have with the Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short time, the entire system would collapse."

I'm confused as to why Snow has singled out Peeta. Why would he think that Peeta would be more affected by his words than me? I think of what he said, and slowly it begins to dawn on me. Snow is playing on Peeta's kind heart. Peeta, being the good person he is, would never want to do anything that would affect so many people so negatively.

The fact that Snow is trying to manipulate Peeta causes a righteous fury to course through me. It's this anger that gives me the gumption to say, "It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down."

Peeta glares at me worriedly, warning me to watch my words, but I'm not him. I don't have the patience to sit back and think of just the right words to use. I say what I mean when I want.

Snow stares at me a long time, as if debating something, before finally saying, "It is fragile, but not in the way you suppose."

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door, and the Capitol man sticks his head in, "Her mother wants to know if you want tea."

"I would," Snow says, his repulsive smile on display. "I would like tea."

My mother immediately comes in with a tray in her hands. A china set that she brought to the Seam when she married my father sits on the tray, and I see three cups and a plate of cookies. "Set it here, please." The president pats a spot on the end of the desk, and my mother sets the tray down as he asked, shooting me a worried look as she passes me.

"What a welcome sight. You know, it's funny how often people forget that presidents need to eat, too," Snow says, as if he's trying to be charming. If this is his version of charming, it really needs some work, but his words seem to appease my mother a bit and set her at ease.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asks. "I can cook something more substantial if you're hungry."

"No, this could not be more perfect. Thank you," he says, and by his tone, it's plain that my mother is dismissed.

She gives me another worried look as she passes me, and this time I can't muster up the effort to give her another reassuring smile. Once the door closes, my eyes refocus on Snow, who is pouring three cups of tea.

Simply for something to do, to distract me, I take my cup of tea and hold it in my hands. Snow fills his cup with cream and sugar, and then takes a long time stirring, purposely I know. He's trying to make Peeta and me more nervous than we already are. It's working.

Peeta glances at me before looking back at Snow. "We didn't mean to start any uprisings," he says.

"I believe you." Snow looks between the two of us. "But it doesn't matter," he continues as his eyes focus on me. It makes sense. He blames me for all of this. "Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, you have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow into an inferno that destroys Panem."

Okay. That sounds a little dramatic, but no less scary.

"Why don't you just kill me now?" I ask bluntly.

"Us," Peeta interjects, and I glare at him.

"Peeta—" I begin, but Snow interrupts me with a chuckle.

I didn't think him capable.

He looks between Peeta and me and I think he's actually genuinely amused. "You still can't decide who lives or dies?" he asks rhetorically. "Charming."

Funny. I don't think it's very charming at all. Annoying, maybe. But that's only because Peeta is such a ridiculously selfless person.

"But I can't kill either you publically," Snow says, shaking his head. "That would only add fuel to the flames."

"Arrange an accident, then," Peeta suggests.

"Who would buy it?" Snow asks. "Neither of you, if you were watching."

"Then just tell us what you want us to do," I say, a strained quality in my voice that wasn't there before. "We'll do it."

"If only it were that simple." Snow looks down at the tray my mother brought in, picking up a cookie and examining it. It's beautifully frosted with flowers on it, definitely Peeta's work. "Lovely. Your mother made these?"

"I did," Peeta speaks up and Snow nods, as if he remembered.

"Ah, yes. You're an artist."

"I just like to paint," Peeta says with a slight shrug. "I'm a really simple guy. I paint. I bake. Occasionally, I branch out have a drink with Haymitch." He says this with a small, charming smile, even though I know it's a lie . . . I think. "I really like honesty, though. Truth will always win out, in my opinion. And I thought we agreed not to lie to each other."

I'm surprised by Peeta's words. What does he see that I don't?

President Snow's eyes narrow. "You do have a way with words, Mr. Mellark. You're likable, personable, quite . . . persuasive. And yes, we did agree not to lie to each other. So, what are you asking?"

"What do you want us to do?" Peeta asks. "You wouldn't leave the Capitol just to come here and threaten us. You want us to calm the districts, so how do you want us to do it?"

Oh. That's what I didn't see.

"You are clever, aren't you?" Snow questions, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. "Clever in a different way from Miss Everdeen. You do complement each other well, I must admit," he says before looking at us seriously, threateningly. "This Tour will be your only chance to turn things around," he says. "You will have to convince everyone that your actions were induced by a passionate love, not by a need to defy the Capitol."

"We will," I promise quickly, eager to get him out of my house. "We'll be crazy in love," I frown, adding as I glance at Peeta, "More than normal."

President Snow rises from his chair. "Aim higher in case you fall short."

"What do you mean? How can I aim higher?" I don't know what he's asking of me.

"Convince _me_," Snow says before grabbing his book from the desk. I stay frozen as he passes me, and it's not until I hear the front door close and the soft purr of a car engine outside that I relax.

Simultaneously, Peeta and I slowly get to our feet, both of us feeling drained and the day isn't even half over. I'm at his side in an instant, and as irrational as it is, when Peeta wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him, I feel safer. But even the comfort of Peeta's embrace cannot overcome the fear flowing freely through me.

"What did he mean Peeta?" I ask confused. "When he said that I had to convince him? He said that he believed we were in love. What else do I have to convince him of?"

I feel Peeta's lips in my hair. He's trying to calm me, and only because it's him is he marginally successful. "I think he means for you to convince him that you weren't defying the Capitol."

"But I wasn't," I say. "I pulled out those berries because I didn't want you to die. I did that because I love you, and he said he believes me."

"You can still be in love with me and defy the Capitol at the same time," Peeta explains softly. "And that's what Snow thinks."

"But . . . then all of this, this making the districts think we were driven insane by love and that it wasn't an act of defiance . . . it's pointless," I realize. "He won't change his mind."

"No," Peeta agrees. "But maybe we can still convince the districts."

"But that's not what matters, Peeta." I'm beginning to shake with anxiety. If I fail, Snow will hurt Prim. My mother. Gale. The rest of the Hawthornes. Peeta's family. "We have to convince _him_."

"He's just worried about the uprisings," Peeta says, beginning to rub small circles on my back. "If we can shut those down, then we should be in the clear."

I don't reply. My mind is racing with thoughts of walking home one day and finding Prim or my mother dead. Passing a weeping Hazelle and seeing Gale's pale corpse. Death. Will it always haunt me?

"Hey," Peeta calls softly and I look up at him. "I love you."

Despite everything, those words bring a small smile to my lips. They always will. "I love you, too."

"Then we'll be okay." Peeta seems so sure, placing a gentle kiss on my lips. "We'll be okay."

I wish I could believe him.

* * *

**Peeta, you're always the optimist.**

**Okay, some of you may be surprised that Snow felt the need to drop in and threaten PK. Despite the fact that they're actually in love in my version, I think that Snow would have dropping in to say, "Hi" anyway. It's not because he doesn't think PK don't love each other. He does. He's just running them in circles, giving them this task to keep them distracted. By threatening their families, he thinks that they won't say anything to fuel the fire of the rebellion.**

**Of course, he always seems to underestimate Katniss and overestimate Peeta. So, we'll see if his little nefarious plot turns out how he wants it to.**

**Next chapter is fun. The Victory Tour begins. A conversation with PK and Haymitch takes place that doesn't end happily . . . little bit of drama next chapter. Glorious!**

**Quote! I must give you a quote! Hmm. . . Katniss!**

**"Exactly how many fantasies do you have?"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	7. Chapter 7

**********A/N: Yet again, I must remind you guys of just how awesome you are. Seriously. You're really starting to freak me out. Too much awesomeness. My brain simply CANNOT process the awesomeness . . .**

**********And I really don't have much to babble today . . . weird . . .**

**********Today's movie quote comes from _Lord of the Rings._**

**********Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"

* * *

Chapter 7

Peeta and I only linger in the library for a second or two more, knowing that my mother is probably beyond worried judging by the looks that she was giving me. "We have to tell Haymitch when we get the chance," Peeta whispers to me as he opens the door.

The idea doesn't sit well with me, but what other choice do we have? I can only think to tell two other people aside from Haymitch and neither of the two are a good idea. Cinna, of course, would be reliable and trustworthy, no doubt providing a few good words of advice along the way, but he's too close to the Capitol. If anyone thought that he knew anything about uprisings, it wouldn't be good for him. The only other person I would ever think to tell would be Gale, but he hasn't been on speaking terms with me and with the fury that he already holds against the Capitol, telling him about the uprisings might just give him the incentive to try and start one himself.

So that left Haymitch, our drunk, combative, confrontational mentor. Fantastic. Though, I tell myself, he did get both Peeta and I out of the Games. Maybe he's still up for keeping us alive.

Hopefully.

"Right," I murmur back to him just as my mother approaches us, looking as worried as ever.

"Is everything alright?" she asks. "I thought that with the president here . . ."

While I'm fumbling for an explanation, Peeta saves the day. "It's no big deal, Mrs. Everdeen. We never see it on camera, but he always stops by the Victor's house the day the Tour begins. Just to wish them luck," he lies smoothly. "Nothing to worry about." Peeta flashes his best charming grin, and my mother visibly sags in relief.

"Oh, good," she says, color beginning to return to her face. "I was worried."

"No need to be," I say. "Everything's fine." I look up at Peeta, a teasing smile playing at my lips. "But some heads are going to roll if Portia and your prep team show up and you're not there."

"Or worse, Effie," Peeta grins. "You know how she is with schedules." He glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. "You're about to kick me out, aren't you?"

"Only for your own good," I reply as I begin to lead him toward the door, ignoring how he is taking abnormally small steps. Honestly, Peeta is just as bad as Rye sometimes.

"But I would much rather stay here with you," he practically whines.

"I need to take a bath."

"More of a reason for me to stay."

"My mother is here!" I hiss as I slap his arm, unable to keep from glancing over my shoulder at my mother, who is watching us with narrowed eyes. I really hope she didn't hear that . . .

We step out onto the front porch and shut the door behind us. Immediately, I turn to him. "I can't believe you said that," I scold, and Peeta just chuckles.

"You seriously think that your mother is completely oblivious?" he asks amused. "Come on, Katniss. See things from her perspective. We had no qualms about making out, quite passionately I might add, on live television." Peeta eyes glitter with michief as he continues, "Imagine what we might do without cameras."

I blush furiously, and Peeta wraps me in his arms with a big smile. "Hey, just think, she hasn't banned you from coming over to my house."

"Like I'd listen if she did," I say rebelliously and Peeta kisses my temple.

"Good to know," he says softly. "I better go, though."

He pulls away from me and glances around. The snow is falling heavily now, creating a swirl of white everywhere. "I thought you were going," I say, fighting a shiver when the wind blows, the icy air stinging my skin.

Peeta looks back at me, a serious, weighted look in his eye. I know that he's replaying President Snow's visit. Even Peeta, as naturally upbeat and cheerful as he is, cannot distract himself from the impending danger that is hanging over our heads for long. Common sense and self-preservation won't allow it. "I don't want to leave you," he admits, his eyes glancing around again, as if searching for hidden Capitol men that are waiting to snatch me up when he's not looking.

I don't blame him. I'm feeling practically the same way. "I'll be fine," I assure him. "Now, go."

"One last thing," he says before pulling me to him and giving me the gentlest of kisses. These kisses always make my heart feel as though it's going to burst. These are the kisses that tell me he loves me without saying the words. No matter how passionate some of our other kisses are, these gentle, simple kisses will always be my favorite.

_Gah, when did I get so mushy?_ I think wryly. The answer comes to me quickly. Two words that explain it all, this odd, drastic change in me: Peeta Mellark.

"Okay," Peeta breathes when he pulls away, his hands still cradling my face. "That will tide me over for the next few hours."

I laugh a little. "Go," I order and he caresses my cheek tenderly before turning and trekking back toward his house.

My eyes follow him until his front door shuts behind him. Once he's out of sight, I quickly retreat back into the warmth of my own house. Maya is right in the entryway, waiting for me no doubt, and wondering why she wasn't outside with me. I take my coat off and hang it in the closet before easing down in front of her, my fingers threading through her thick, winter coat.

"I hate that you're not coming with me," I say regretfully. For a brief moment, I entertain the thought of actually taking her with me on the Victory Tour, if the Capitol even allowed it in the first place. I would certainly like her company, knowing that she had my back. And, as irrational as it is, it calms me knowing that she's sleeping at the foot of the bed at night, like she could physically fight off the nightmares that might come charging through the door.

Maya seems to understand me because she cocks her head to the side, studying me. "You'll just have to stay here until I get back. Protect Prim while I'm gone."

"There you are!" My mother hurries to me. "Your prep team and everyone else will be here soon. I've already drawn you a bath, but you need to get to it before the water gets cool."

"Thanks," I say with a small smile. I look back at Maya. "You need to get out of here," I tell her as I lead her to the back door. "It's not a good idea for the Capitol to know about you."

I open the door to the backyard, knowing that there is a shortcut to the woods from this point. "Go hunt," I say and Maya looks up at me before trotting out the door. In the falling snow, she's practically invisible.

Now that she's taken care of, I hurry up the stairs and quickly undress, hopping into the bath. The warm water soothes my still-chilled skin, and I sigh. I'm able to lie in the tub and soak for about a minute before my mind is assaulted by the events of the day. Waking up this morning with Peeta seems so far away. The meeting with President Snow replays over and over in my mind as I wash on autopilot.

Even though I survived the danger of the arena, the danger that I face now seems twice as perilous. Because this time, it isn't just me and Peeta that I'm trying to keep alive. It's Prim. My mother. Gale. Hazelle and the kids. And then there is Peeta's family, too.

If Peeta and I failed, if we didn't stop the uprisings, they would suffer for it.

I'm just able to finish bathing and put on a bathrobe before my prep team storms into my bedroom and engulfs me in huge hugs. They all seem to hover around me, surveying me, and it's not half a second before they start wailing.

"Oh, Katniss, what have you done to your eyebrows?" Venia shrieks.

"And these nails!" Octavia laments, and I can't really blame her. My nail-biting habit really is counterproductive to her efforts.

Flavius, his orange ringlets and purple lipstick as bright as ever, is running his hands through my wet hair. "Have you cut your hair?" he asks. "We told you to leave it alone."

"No!" I say, finding a little hint of pride that I managed to console them a little. "It's just been in my normal braid."

"Oh, good," Flavius says before clapping his hands together. "Let's get to work!"

The next few hours are their own form of torture. Venia goes to work on my eyebrows, plucking them to perfection, as Octavia buffs my nails back into shape. I notice that Venia's gold tattoos not only border her eyebrows, but now extend to the corner of her eye. Octavia has dyed her skin again, going from a pea green to a lighter, more spring-like shade. No doubt both changes were an attempt to keep up with the ever-changing fashion trends.

Flavius is rubbing some type of goo into my hair as Venia and Octavia work, all three of them prattling nonstop. They go on and on about my and Peeta's Games and how everyone loves us and can't wait to see us again at the end of the Tour. Next topic of conversation is all the gossip. Who said what. Who had an affair with who. Who had the audacity to wear whatever fashion style that was _so last season_.

And then they get to the Quarter Quell.

"Isn't it exciting?"

"Your first year of mentoring, and it's a Quell!"

"You can bet Haymitch better prepare for a lot of attention!"

You see, every twenty-five years there is a Quarter Quell. It marks the anniversary of the districts' defeat by the Capitol. And just to flaunt their control and watch all of Panem squirm, each Quarter Quell has a miserable twist. For example, during the Fiftieth Hunger Games, the Second Quarter Quell, the twist was that twice the amount of tributes were reaped. An arena of forty-eight tributes.

The Victor of those Games was Haymitch Abernathy, my mentor.

I've never seen Haymitch's Games, and I really don't want to. Whatever nightmares he lives with are his own, and I don't need any more images of death in my brain. Who knows what kind of new terrors it could create. In a way, it's a good thing that Peeta and I are mentoring this year because Haymitch is sure to be passed out drunk the entire time.

Venia approaches me with the dreaded wax materials, and I glare at her. Seeing my look, she clucks her tongue at me. "I'm sorry, Katniss, but you've really let yourself go," she says as she preps my legs to be waxed.

"It's winter!" I protest as she rips off the first strip. "No one is going to see!" I hiss.

"Not in District 11," Venia tells me as she rips off another strip. "It's nice and sunny and warm there."

I resign myself to my fate and grit my teeth as she rips out all of my body hair, only leaving alone my eyebrows and my head. When it's finally over and my skin is stinging, I'm just about ready to bolt. Forget prepping. All that seems important to me is to convince the districts that my act with the berries was purely out of love, which, of course, it was. The fact that they're seeing it as a form of rebellion is not my problem.

And yet it is, because President Snow has made it so.

Once Venia soothes my skin with a special oil, she wraps me up in a bathrobe. Just as they're sitting me in the chair, my mother comes in shyly. "Cinna asked me to show you Katniss's braid she wore at the reaping," she says softly, slightly nervous, as if she expects a rebuff.

She couldn't have been further from the truth. My prep team is absolutely thrilled to learn the elaborate braid and all but drag my mother to stand behind me. They watch, thoroughly engrossed, as my mom puts up my hair. Eagerness shines in their eyes as she lets each of them try a step of the braid. My prep team may get on my nerves with their Capitol raving, but they're good people. They simply don't know any different. Kind of like children.

After my hair is done, my mother and my prep team leave. I barely have a minute to myself before Cinna strides into my room, but I can't help but smile. "Cinna," I say as I give him a big hug. I notice the garment bag hanging over his arm. "What do you got for me?"

"Why don't you see?" Cinna asks, his voice slightly indulgent.

My smile widens as I see the outfit. Black pants made of a soft, warm material, a comfy white shirt to be worn under a green sweater that is as soft as a kitten. I look up at Cinna. "Did I design these?" I ask, a smirk playing at my lips. "Because it looks like I show a lot of promise."

Cinna scoffs good-naturedly. "Get dressed, you worthless thing."

As I change, I ask him, "Aren't I showcasing my designs before we leave?"

"Yes," Cinna answers, taking some cards out of his pocket. "You'll read these off-camera as they film the clothes. They're all laid out downstairs."

"Oh, great," I say, glad that I don't have to be in front of the camera.

"Just sound like you care," Cinna teases just as Effie comes in. She kisses me on both cheeks as a greeting, before she begins to ramble nonstop.

"We have a schedule!" she admonishes, like we've already dawdled long enough. "Katniss, dear, it's so good to see you, but we've got to get you downstairs!"

Cinna hands me the cue cards and I quickly look over them so I don't fumble any of the words. Effie leads us downstairs and I glance around at the multitude of clothes on display, clothes that I supposedly designed. I glance back at Cinna, "I must have been inspired," I say and Cinna grins at me.

"Yes, you aspire to outdo me, your fashion hero," he replies with a smile and I laugh.

Cinna is so easy-going and calm. The urge to tell him of President Snow's visit is almost overwhelming. He's always given such good advice and he's so easy to talk to, but I keep my mouth shut. I can't burden Cinna with my secret. Haymitch is the one who needs to be told, just as Peeta and I agreed earlier.

The camera crew films the clothes, and I read the words on the cards in as upbeat a voice as I can without sounding fake. Once it's over, I look to Cinna who gives me a smile, telling me that I did a good job, and just as I open my mouth to say something, Effie swoops in, talking about the schedule as she leads me to the door, clapping her hands. "Attention, everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greet each other at the beginning of their marvelous trip. All right, Katniss, big smile, you're very excited, right?" she says as Cinna helps me with my coat, which is furry on the outside and the inside, though I don't recognize the animal.

Cinna fixes my mockingjay pin to my scarf and then puts a pair of earmuffs over my ears. I frown, not liking the fact that my hearing is lessened. Even if the Capitol fixed my deafened left ear after the Games, I still don't trust it completely, and check it occasionally, making sure that it's still transmitting sounds.

"Come on, Katniss," Effie urges, sounding rushed. "We have a schedule to keep! Don't you want to see Peeta?"

I'm not exaggerating when I say that the moment Cinna declares me presentable, Effie shoves me out the door. It's still snowing heavily, and it takes me a moment to see through the swirling whiteness. Then I see Peeta coming through his front door, and I smile, though it threatens to falter when I remember President Snow's threat.

_Convince me_.

This is what prompts me to dash down the steps of my front porch and run toward Peeta like I can't stand the distance between us any longer. I fling myself into his arms, and send us tumbling into the snow. Peeta makes sure that he hits the ground first, and I land right on top of him, my hands bracing themselves on his chest.

It's not a second later before we're kissing, and immediately I feel reassured by the steadiness that Peeta brings into my life. For a moment it's just me and Peeta, forget the cameras that are filming us. But the second we pull away, it's almost like I can feel President Snow watching us, and saying, "Not good enough."

Peeta must see the worry in my eyes, "It'll be alright," he whispers so that the microphone won't pick him up. He claims my lips again for a brief second before saying, "Is this how you're greeting me, now?" he teases, his voice at a normal level. "Tackling me to the ground?"

"With a kiss," I add with a wide grin as I hop to my feet, taking his hand and pulling him up with me. "That's got to count for something, right?" I give him a quick peck as I thread my arm through his, leaning into him as we walk to the train station.

I'm never this clingy, but we're going to have to be as lovey-dovey as possible to convince everyone that we're so crazy in love that starting the spark of a rebellion wasn't our intention when I pulled out those berries.

We bid everyone goodbye at the train station and once the doors close, we're led to the dining car where an exquisite Capitol meal is laid out. I hardly notice what I'm eating. All I can think about is President Snow's threat and the seemingly impossible task that he has given me and Peeta.

It seems like hardly anytime at all before night falls and I've changed from my day clothes into a thick, plush bathrobe. Peeta is stretched out on my bed, his fingers linked together behind his head. He's changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt. I climb onto the bed and lean my back against the headboard. Peeta glances up at me, "You okay?"

"No."

"What's wrong?"

I give him a look, one that says, 'you're kidding me, right?' Peeta sighs before shifting so that he's propped up on his elbow. "You've got to relax," he tells me and I look at him incredulously.

"How am I supposed to relax, Peeta?" I whisper heatedly. I know that I can't say much on the train because who knows if it's bugged? So I've got to be careful with my words. "With everything that's going on?" I continue ambiguously. "It's just a little stressful."

"It'll be alright," he says and I wonder if he really believes it or if he keeps repeating it so eventually he will. Seeing that I still look unconvinced, he reaches up and wraps an arm around my waist before pulling me down to him so that I'm lying beside him. My eyes immediately meet his, and I'm transfixed. "We can't win a battle if we already think we've lost."

"Do you really think that we can win?" I ask quietly, and Peeta stops trying to reassure me, letting his tiredness and fear show, but there's still a silent determination shining in his eyes.

"I think we have to try," he says, knowing better than to placate me and give me the answer I want, which is 'yes' he thinks that we can miraculously convince the districts that we never meant our action with the berries to be seen as a form of rebellion. "And then we just have to see what happens."

I sigh, scooting closer to him so that there is hardly an inch of space between us. "I hate this," I say so softly that Peeta probably has to strain to hear me. "I hate _him_." President Snow. I don't even know if hate is a strong enough word. It's one thing to threaten me. It's another to threaten those I love, those I protect.

And I hate how absolutely helpless I feel. I hate how I'm being controlled, used by the Capitol, by Snow. I hate how I'm constantly reminded of the Capitol's power, how they oppress the districts. If everything weren't so dire, if the lives of those I loved weren't at risk, I might honestly tell Snow to go to hell and start my own uprising.

"I know," Peeta whispers, his lips at my ear.

He gently eases me onto my back so he's hovering over me, and he begins a slow trail of sensual kisses along my neck. My eyes close involuntarily. Sometimes I still can't believe how far we've come in the physical side of our relationship. I still remember the days when he wasn't so confident, always hesitant, never wanting to upset me by going too far. The days when there were nervous, embarrassed laughs as we fumbled through things.

The memory of Peeta's first attempt to remove my bra will never fail to make me laugh.

Even now, I can't help but smile as his lips finally meet mine. "Is this your attempt at getting me to relax?" I ask.

"It is my intention," he replies with a smile. "Is it working?"

"Getting there," I admit as he unties my robe.

Peeta sees what I'm wearing, and grins. "I've been looking for that shirt."

I may not be the most romantic girl out there, but even I am not immune to the allure of stealing my boyfriend's shirts. Even if I don't really like the term 'boyfriend.' There's just something about that title that seems inadequate when you and your 'boyfriend' survived the Hunger Games. I think I'll always see him as my partner, in every sense of the word.

"Well here it is," I say with a shrug. "You can always take it back."

A playful light enters Peeta's eye. "What if I want it back now?"

I reach up and kiss him teasingly, tracing his bottom lip with my tongue. "But then what will I wear?" I ask with a sly smile.

"Ideally?" Peeta grins as his hand glides up my thigh. "Nothing."

I can't help but laugh. "You know, I'm feeling pretty relaxed," I admit, still surprised by the effect this boy has on me.

Peeta pretends to pout. "But I wasn't done yet. I had a plan."

"What did the plan involve?" I raise my eyebrows in question as I slide my hands up his chest and along his shoulders before my fingers begin to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Different sides of our personalities that no one else really gets to see tend to come out when Peeta and I are in the bedroom. I surprised us both by being rather playful, an adjective I would never have associated myself with. Peeta is more of himself, just a little bit more dominant, or maybe _assertive_ is a better word. It worried him a little at first until I told him that I truly didn't mind. In fact, I found a dominant, more assertive Peeta extremely attractive.

"Well . . ." Peeta says slowly. "I've had this fantasy since I was fourteen about you and me in the shower that has yet to play out in real life."

I laugh. "And I suppose the goal would be getting clean?"

"Of course," Peeta grins as he kisses me. "I plan to clean every inch of you, especially those hard to reach places, very thoroughly."

Another bout of laughter escapes me. "Exactly how many fantasies do you have?"

Peeta gets this serious look on his face, like he's doing the math in his head. "Can we just say a lot? I've had years to come up with them."

The train suddenly begins to slow, and I look at Peeta, seriousness quickly overcoming the levity in the air. The train is stopping for fuel, which gives Peeta and I just enough time to talk to Haymitch.

Without saying a word, both of us get out of bed. I retie by bathrobe and slide my feet into a pair of slippers as Peeta quickly ties his shoes and shrugs on a jacket. When we step out into the hallway, the train is quiet and there's no one in sight. Together we go Haymitch's compartment and Peeta doesn't hesitate to knock. We both know that even though it's the middle of the night, Haymitch won't be asleep. He won't sleep in the dark.

It takes a few seconds of knocking before a grumbling Haymitch yanks open the door. He glares at us both, and the smell of wine wafts into the hallway. "What do you want?" he snaps.

"We need to talk," I whisper.

"Now?" I nod. "Well, this better be good," he says, and then waits for either Peeta or I to say something.

"It's a little stuffy in here," Peeta hints, telling Haymitch that we don't want the Capitol bugs to hear.

Haymitch's eyes narrow in understanding. "I know just what you two need," he says before stepping out into the hallway, barging past us. He leads us to a door that he swings open and then trips out onto the ground, swaying slightly. A Capitol attendant hustles to help him, but he waves her away good-naturedly.

Peeta takes the cue. "We'll get him," he assures the attendant.

"He's just drunk," I say ruefully. "Little fresh air will do him good."

The attendant nods, leaving us, and Peeta jumps out onto the ground before turning back to me. I quickly follow, though I cringe slightly when my slipper-covered feet sink into the snow, quickly becoming soaked, but I ignore it and walk over to Haymitch.

Once we're a little distance away from the train, he spins to face us. "What?"

Peeta and I take turns telling him everything, all about President Snow's visit. The uprisings, the threats if we fail—everything.

"Then you can't fail," Haymitch says simply at the end of our explanation and I huff at the practically useless advice. I don't know what exactly I was hoping for by talking with Haymitch, but I didn't think he'd tell me something I already knew that was blaringly obvious.

"You've got to help us get through this trip," I say angrily. "You got us out of the arena, but does it all end there? Are you just going to leave us on our own?"

"Listen, sweetheart," Haymitch snaps. "Even if you two pull it off, they'll be back in another few months to take us all to the Games. You and Peeta, you'll be mentors now, every year from here on out. And every year they'll revisit the romance and broadcast the details of your private life, and you'll never, ever be able to do anything but live happily ever after." He glances between the two of us. "Now, I'm not saying that that will really be a trial for you lovebirds, the love part at least, but you're never escaping the Capitol. Your only shot to get them to lighten up is to show them that you two are serious, that your time in the arena wasn't a hormone collision because you both thought you were going to die. You've got to show you're committed."

I glance up at Peeta, the weight of what Haymitch is saying hitting me. Commitment. The _ultimate_ commitment.

"You're saying we have to get married," I breathe, and Haymitch shrugs.

"What?" he questions. "It's not like it wasn't going to happen eventually." He suddenly looks between the two of us. "Right?"

"Well . . . I . . . it . . ." I stammer, unable to string together my thoughts that are flying a mile a minute through my brain.

"It was a long way down the road," Peeta says, glancing down at me worriedly.

This isn't right. I shouldn't be forced into something like this. It's not as if the idea of marrying Peeta is abhorrent to me, though it is slightly terrifying. No, the abhorrent part is the fact that the choice is being taken away from me. The Capitol is controlling my life. Controlling everything that I do, and I have no choice but to comply if I want to keep those that I love safe.

"It's not fair," I say. "It's just . . . it's just not!"

"Life isn't fair, sweetheart," Haymitch shrugs, and the casual action, as if this is no big deal, infuriates me, and I can't stand to be near him for another second.

"I'm going," I say definitively, turning on my heel, but I feel a hand grab my arm.

The action was gentle, so I know it's Peeta, but I still shrug him off. "Leave me alone, Peeta," I snap before he can say anything, and continue to stomp back toward the train.

I march back to my room and shut the door with more force than was necessary before locking it, even though I know it won't deter Peeta if he wants to talk to me. He'll just pick the lock.

I really hope he doesn't.

Because right now, he's the last person I want to see.

* * *

**Yeah . . . Katniss is being stubborn again. I know, I know . . . SHOCKER.**

**But you've got to admit, she does have a right to be fairly pissed. Because while in the original, she just didn't want to marry Peeta, in my version it was in her future (however distant and scary) but at least it was her choice. Now, that choice is being made for her, and we all know that Katniss doesn't take too kindly to that.**

**And poor Peeta. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place.**

**Anyhoo, next chapter is a lot of fun, especially the beginning. It's a serious, dramatic chapter, but with a few lighthearted moments to ease the darkness a little bit. It's a lot of fun. :)**

**Quote, quote, quote, I must give you a quote . . . hmm . . . Katniss has a good line . . .**

**"You killed him!"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Wow! I must say it again folks, you guys are amazing. I have the best readers in the world. Yep. You heard me. Best ever.**

**And so, because you are so awesome, I have a treat for you! Yep! That's right! Creepy dream sequence! It's creepy, but not the creepiest. Nope, I saved the scarily-disturbing-check-yourself-into-the-psych-ward nightmares for Mockingjay. Just to let you know what's to come. ;)**

**Movie quote for today's disclaimer comes from _The Avengers._**

**************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"

* * *

Chapter 8

I'm in a long, brightly lit hallway. A finely woven carpet covers the floor and the walls are a neutral, but warm beige. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling at intervals, casting reflective rainbows. The entire atmosphere around me emanates elegance and royalty. It occurs to me that I must be in the president's mansion.

Fear begins to seep into my bones as the reality of my situation sinks in. Why am I here? How did I get here? A loud _bang_ echoes through the hallway that makes my heart stop. A gunshot. I whirl around, my eyes darting everywhere as I try and figure out where the shot came from.

Suddenly, the walls begin to change color, a deep, bright red seeping through until it's dripping to the floor. I take a step back, and hear the telltale _splash_ of when you step in a puddle. I glance down and see that my foot is covered in red. The puddle is red.

Blood.

I jump back away from the puddle, only to step into another, and then another. The entire floor is pooling with blood. The walls are continuing to bleed, trickles of blood flowing down to the floor. Something wet lands on my head, and I look up toward the ceiling only to have a drop of blood land on my face.

The ceiling is bleeding too.

Horrified, I begin to run down the hall, seeking an escape, ignoring the sloshing of the blood as I wade through it. It's up to my knees and the ceiling is bleeding faster and faster. It's like rain. Blood rain. I hurry faster, the blood slowly rising. My eyes dart everywhere but all I see is red. The walls, the floor, the ceiling. The entire hallway is flooded with blood.

And then a door appears in front of me. Desperate to escape, I hurl myself toward the door and quickly open it before shutting it behind me. I'm shaking and fighting the urge to vomit, the metallic scent in the air is so strong.

"I was wondering when you would come." My head snaps up and I'm staring into the eyes of President Snow. He's dressed as immaculately as always, a coal black suit with a white dress shirt and a black tie. His white hair is brushed back, not a strand out of place.

His too-full lips suddenly part in a menacing smile, and I notice that he has a gun in his hand. He's the one who fired the shot. "Oh, look at you," he says. "Covered in blood."

I glance down at myself. From head to toe I'm drenched in blood, and it's slowly pooling at my feet as it drips off my clothes. For some reason, my hair is not in its usual braid, instead hanging loose and flowing down my back. But right now, it looks more red than black, tiny drops of blood slowly dripping from the strands.

"It's too bad it's not yours," Snow says before his eyes move to the middle of the room, and my gaze follows his.

I scream.

"Peeta!"

Immediately, I'm on my knees at his side. A dark pool of blood surrounds him. His skin is too pale. His eyes are wide and sightless. And there's a hole right in the middle of his forehead.

"_No_," I moan, feeling my heart shatter. "No, no, no, no, no . . ." Tears spring into my eyes and pour down my cheeks as I shake him. "Peeta!" Sobs are overtaking me as I fruitlessly try to shake him awake. "Peeta! Come on, you can't leave me! You promised! You . . . you promised . . ." I whisper brokenly. Peeta remains lifeless. "Please," I plead. "Peeta!"

Snow's cruel laughter causes me to spin to face him. "Why?" I screech, the pain of losing Peeta filling me with a level of fury that I've never known.

Snow looks at me like he's confused. "Well, obviously you didn't want him."

"I love him!" I scream. "You bastard! You killed him!"

"No," Snow shakes his head. "You did, Katniss. This is all your fault. If you had only married him . . . why didn't you, anyway? If you loved him _so_ much."

"I-I didn't want to . . . to have the choice made for me," I whisper. "I-It's not my fault. You killed him."

"Don't try to blame this on me," Snow says, waving the gun in his hand. "This is all your fault, Katniss. All you had to do was marry the man you loved."

"I do—"

"Oh, it's too late for that."

Snow begins to laugh, and suddenly the blood from the hallway rushes into the room, sweeping me off my feet. I cough as the blood gets into my mouth and my nose as I struggle to keep my head above the rising level of blood. The red sea continues to rise until the entire room is almost full to the ceiling, and I have little to no more air.

And then the blood, Peeta's blood, engulfs me entirely and I'm in a world of red as I slowly drown . . .

I awake with a gasp, sucking in a lungful full of air. I'm drenched in a light sheen of sweat, Peeta t-shirt clinging to my overheated skin. My eyes are wide as I try to regain control of my breathing, telling myself that I'm not drowning in Peeta's blood.

Peeta.

I'm on my feet and out the door in two seconds. Peeta's room is only three doors down, and I don't even bother to knock. I push the door open so hard that it bounces off the wall and still has enough momentum to shut behind me. I hardly notice this though because I practically jump on Peeta in my haste to make sure he's not dead.

Big mistake.

Peeta's arm shoots out, wraps around my waist, and I'm flipped onto my back as he pins me to the bed, his hand around my throat. His eyes are wild and I know that he's still in that state between nightmare and reality. "Peeta!" I gasp.

Almost immediately, recognition flickers in Peeta's eyes, but it's quickly overcome by shock and then horror. Within the next second, he lets me go and rolls off me. Both of us are quiet for a minute before he lets out a shaky breath, "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I answer, pleased when my voice comes out relatively strong.

Peeta doesn't reply. He doesn't even look at me, and I don't know which one of us feels guiltier in this moment. I shouldn't have jumped on him like that. He has nightmares about his fights with Cato and the boy from District 4 far too often and he's always ready for a fight the moment he wakes up. And then I'm also feeling guilty because _he's_ feeling guilty and it's all my fault.

_All my fault_. I shiver as my nightmare comes back to me.

"Peeta." I prop myself up on my elbow and lay a gentle hand on his bare shoulder. "Peeta, it's okay."

"No it's not," Peeta whispers, shaking his head. "It's not okay."

"I'm fine," I assure him, though I'm getting aggravated that he won't look at me. "Will you look at me? See for yourself. I'm fine."

Slowly, Peeta turns his head and tormented blue eyes study my face before traveling down to stare at my neck. Hesitantly, he raises his hand to my neck, trembling slightly, before brushing his fingertips along my skin so gently that I can barely feel it.

"See?" I say as his hand drops. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Peeta apologizes softly, his voice laden with guilt and self-loathing. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm the one that should be sorry," I tell him as I curl up closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder and throwing an arm over his waist. I ignore how he tenses briefly. "I shouldn't have jumped you like that. I just . . . I had to make sure that . . ." I trail off as I remember my nightmare. "You died," I whisper.

"Nightmare." Peeta doesn't say it as a question. He knows the answer. I nod and hold him tighter.

"I drowned in your blood," I tell him, my voice barely audible as I fight back more tears. "Snow killed you, and it was all my fault."

Peeta's arms surround me and my tears threaten to spill as I relish the feeling of his strong, protective embrace. I bury my head into the crook of his neck, and his hold on me tightens briefly.

"I was fighting Cato," he admits. "I'm sorry . . ." he begins to apologize again, but I cut him off.

"Don't apologize," I say, before adding in a rare show of vulnerability. "Just hold me."

Peeta kisses my hair. "I can do that," he whispers, but I hardly hear him because I'm already drifting off to sleep.

Just as I'm about to fall over the edge into unconsciousness, my hand moves to rest on Peeta's chest, right over his heart. I finally allow myself to fall asleep, the feel of his heartbeat beneath my hand reassuring me that he's alive.

I know the moment I wake up that it's midmorning, much later than I would usually sleep. However, I really don't dwell on this fact because Peeta is kissing my neck. And while any other morning, I might surprise him by flipping him onto his back (his reaction is always hilarious), I know that his lips at my neck are not necessarily there for my enjoyment. They're there because he still feels guilty about last night.

My eyes open and I sigh, "Stop feeling guilty."

Peeta looks up at me, "I hurt you."

I scoff. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried, Mellark." Peeta gives me a look, and I know what he's thinking. I would have to resort to some pretty underhanded methods if I ever wanted to beat him in a fight. "Okay," I revise. "You can't hurt me, but not because you're not physically capable, but simply because you would never allow yourself to."

Peeta is still hell-bent on feeling guilty. "Last night—"

"Last night I was stupid and thought it would be a good idea to jump on you, knowing full well that you were probably having a nightmare," I interrupt. "You snapped out of it, Peeta. No harm done. Move on."

"What if I don't snap out of it next time?" Peeta questions and I sigh.

"You will always snap out of it."

"How do you know?"

"Because you love me."

Peeta's lips quirk up into a faint smile. "I do."

"So stop with the guilt-trip because it's getting on my nerves," I tell him and he sighs, relenting.

"Fine."

"Thank you."

"But I should have—"

I groan. "Peeta," I complain. "Will you just shut up?"

In answer Peeta situates himself so that he's propped up on his elbow beside me. "I should have gone after you last night," he says. "That way we would have avoided all of this."

I close my eyes, thinking of last night. "I really didn't want to see you."

"Yeah, which is why I retreated to my room to lick my wounds," Peeta replies and I blanch.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, thinking that last night was the second time Peeta watched me run away from him. "It's not that I don't want to marry you," I say softly. "I do."

"I know why you're mad," Peeta says. "I'm not too thrilled either. This is ruining my plan."

I can't help but smile. "Another plan?"

"I have many plans."

My hand comes up to caress his face, my fingers gliding along his jaw line. "I love you," I say, so softly I wonder if he can hear. "I don't say it enough."

Peeta gives me a sweet kiss. "You tell me every day," he says. "Just not with words." He kisses me again. "A kiss here." His hand sweeps away the hair that's threatening to fall into my eyes. "A touch there." Suddenly, he grins. "How every night, without fail, I will wake up to you snoring right in my ear."

I flush. "That was once! Once! I had a cold."

"And you with the sniffles proved to be extremely adorable," Peeta smiles at the memory. "Red nose. Watery eyes. Smelling of cough syrup. Yeah, that was a great weekend."

I scowl. "I was miserable."

"The great Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, succumbs to the common cold," Peeta teases, before frowning. "Which you then immediately gave to me."

"And you were just pathetic." I smile.

Peeta shrugs, a dopey grin on his face. "You were taking care of me. I've never seen you fuss like that. It was great."

I blush and shove his shoulder so that he's on his back. "Shut it, Mellark."

"Oh, great. You're calling me by my last name again. Never a good sign."

"You know," I say dryly. "It's times like these when I know that you're related to Rye."

Peeta rolls his eyes. "What are you talking about? I'm way better looking."

"He's funnier," I say.

"I'm smarter."

"He's faster."

"I'm stronger."

"He's a better kisser."

Peeta's eyes cut to me sharply. "He didn't."

I can't help but smile. "He did."

"He's getting punched." Peeta's eyes are glinting with a vengeful, mischievous light so like Rye's I can't help but laugh. "Right in the face."

"It was just a little peck," I assure him. "As a joke. He caught me off guard."

"No, no, no, Katniss you do not understand." Peeta glances at me. "You know, there's a code among brothers. Some lines you do not cross."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you that I already punched him in the face?" I ask, and Peeta grins.

"Did you really?"

"There is only one Mellark that is allowed to kiss me," I say firmly, though I can't help but smile a little at the memory. I don't know what reaction Rye had been expecting, but a punch in the nose wasn't it.

"This is the part where you tell me that that one Mellark is me," Peeta says as he rolls so that he's hovering over me. "Any second now would be great."

In answer, I lean up to kiss him, and I can't help but laugh internally as Peeta immediately deepens the kiss. However, I find that I'm quickly losing the ability to think coherently.

What did I find humorous, again?

Peeta finally pulls away to allow me to breathe, and I look up at him, giving him the answer he wants to hear. "Yes, you are the one, and yes, you are better kisser than Rye."

I can't help but laugh at how Peeta's eyes brighten at my words, but I know him well enough to know that his little tiff with Rye is not over. "You're still going to punch him when we get back, aren't you?"

"Right in the nose."

Both Peeta and I startle when someone knocks on the door. "Peeta!" Effie calls, as peppy as ever through the door. "Time to get up! It's a big, big, big, day!"

I wait for the sound of Effie's heels clicking away, but it never happens. "Um, Peeta, dear?" she asks somewhat hesitantly.

Peeta frowns. "Yeah, Effie?"

"You wouldn't know where Katniss is, would you? I think I've lost her," Effie says, sounding mildly distressed.

Peeta glances down at me, both of us amused by the situation. "Don't worry, Effie!" Peeta calls. "I know where to find her!"

"Oh, good," Effie says relieved. "Make sure she's at breakfast!"

Peeta and I wait until we're sure she's gone before we both dissolve into a fit of laughter. "That was a close one," Peeta grins. "Who knows the terror Effie Trinket can unleash."

"Especially when we're doing something so improper." I smile before thinking about breakfast. "I actually need a shower," I say as I try to get up, but Peeta throws an arm around my waist.

"Use mine," he says persuasively, his lips brushing against my ear.

"And then what will I wear to breakfast?" I ask pointedly.

"I have many shirts for you to steal."

"Borrow," I correct indignantly. "Borrow without permission. And people will talk if I show up in just your shirt."

Peeta huffs before releasing me. "Fine," he sighs in defeat. "Leave me all alone then. All by myself in this terribly lonesome compartment . . ."

"Guilt tripping will not work," I say without missing a beat. "Now get ready before Effie comes to drag you out of here."

By this time, Peeta has swung his legs over the side of the bed, but has yet to get up, choosing to sit there and run a hand through his hair as he sighs. He looks up at me, and I see the weighted look in his eyes, seriousness replacing the lightheartedness only seconds before. Unable to help myself, I walk back towards him and his hands automatically settle on my hips as I mine rest on his shoulders.

"You know," he says quietly, looking up at me ruefully. "I can almost forget everything else when I'm with you."

I know what he's saying. 'Everything else,' in this case, is President Snow's threat and our talk with Haymitch last night. "Right back at you," I reply.

It really is uncanny how together we're able to, for a while at least, forget about everything. President Snow. Threats. Forced and yet not-so-forced marriages. Like only moments before, we were laughing about hiding me from Effie. Before that we were laughing about Rye and what's coming to him when we get back to 12. It's simply not in Peeta's nature to let things stay dismal for too long. He has to find some kind of happiness, and it's that ability, that drive for something better, that makes me fall in love with him all over again.

He's really turning me into a sap, I think wryly. Who would have thought that I, Katniss Everdeen, the hunter from the Seam—who never wanted or believed she needed love and a relationship—would in only seven months have her world tipped upside down—all because of one boy?

"I've got to go," I say, bending down to give him a quick kiss before stepping away from him and hesitantly poking my head out the door to check the hallway. Seeing that the coast is clear, I dash down the hallway and practically fling myself into my room. For a moment, I'm able to feel a slight thrill at sneaking back into my room unnoticed, though the excitement really is dull compared to the threat of getting caught by my mother back home.

I take the quickest shower I've ever taken, which is truly saying something, and then I dress in the first set of clothes I touch when I open my dresser—black pants and a white t-shirt. When I walk into the dining car, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia are sitting at the table, Peeta having yet to arrive apparently.

I sit in a chair on the opposite side of the table, and Haymitch glances my way briefly before his attention reverts back to the muffin he's currently picking at. "Effie tells me that you weren't in your room," he says mildly.

My eyes immediately look to my plate to delay my response.

"Well?" Haymitch snaps lightly, though not with as much bite as usual. He must be nursing a _massive_ hangover.

"I couldn't sleep," I say, which is somewhat the truth.

"So you wondered the train for hours?" Haymitch continues to question me and I resist the urge to glare at him. I know that he knows _exactly_ where I was last night. He's not stupid, far from it actually, much to my irritation.

"No," I say as I stab a piece of sausage with a little too much force. "Not exactly." Cinna quickly takes a drink to hide his knowing smile, and Portia actually winks at me.

I've never fought so hard not to blush.

Peeta chooses this moment to walk into the room, and he pauses briefly, surveying the scene, no doubt sensing the tension in the air. Effie looks up. "Oh, there you are, Peeta. We were just trying to find out where Katniss disappeared to sometime last night."

"Really?" Peeta says smoothly as he sits beside me. "Well, I told you I knew where to find her."

Effie looks at me pointedly, missing Haymitch's smirk, Cinna's smile, and Portia's brief giggle that she stifles quickly, pretending to dab her lips with a napkin.

I'm just about ready to hide under the table in embarrassment.

"And where was she exactly?" Effie asks before looking at me. "I really can't have you running off dear. We might get off schedule trying to find you."

After her mild scolding of me, she looks back at Peeta, waiting for an answer. "Oh, well, she was just . . ." he trails off, searching for some explanation. "You know what, Effie? She was with me. Snuck into my room last night and attacked me. Jumped on the bed and everything."

Everyone at the table stares at him before Effie breaks out into a fit of giggles. Haymitch rolls his eyes before returning his attention back to his muffin that he's slowly picking apart. Cinna just shakes his head, and Portia merely resumes eating, though a smile is playing at the corner of her lips.

Effie is just in a fit. "Oh, very funny, Peeta! Very funny." A rogue giggle escapes her. "That would be so terribly improper, but I see what you're trying to tell me. It's a little secret place of hers, hmm? Somewhere she escapes too?"

I want to bang my head against the table. Oh, Effie. If only you knew.

"I want to keep it a secret, Effie," I finally speak. "You know, just a place all to myself that no one else knows about. Except Peeta."

"Oh, well, alright," Effie sighs indulgently. "Just make sure that you're where I need you to be when I need you to be there. We have a schedule!" she chides gently before the subject is dropped and we all tuck into our breakfast.

As we eat, try as I might, I can't focus on the food. Now that I'm not with Peeta in our little bubble of blissful obliviousness, all I can think about is President Snow and his threat. All I can think about is how Peeta and I need to convince the districts that we didn't mean to be a symbol of rebellion. We didn't mean to start uprisings. I simply wanted us both to live.

It doesn't help that our first stop is District 11, Thresh and Rue's home. I feel a sharp pang in my heart as I think of Rue. Such a sweet girl and so very clever. I have nightmares about her death, my mind replaying her getting speared in the stomach over and over. I'm never able to get to her in time. She always dies, and I always wake up in tears.

During the Victory Tour we'll continue through the districts until we reach the Capitol, the final stop on the tour where Peeta and I can be sure to expect a lavish party, filled with Capitol citizens that think we're the coolest thing since sliced bread.

Oh, great. Bread jokes are rubbing off on me. Brilliant.

Then there's mine and Peeta's marriage. I stab at the food on my plate with a little too much gusto. It's not like I object to marrying Peeta. However scary the concept, I had known that it would eventually happen. One day. A while from now.

Not in the very near distant future.

Anger swells within me every second I continue to think about the Capitol. First, they plan to take my sister from me, but I volunteered, offering myself instead. Then I was put through the hell that is the Hunger Games. And then to save the boy that I unwittingly fell in love with, I unintentionally provided a spark, an act of rebellion, making fools of the Capitol. And now, Snow has threatened everyone I love, giving me the seemingly impossible task of convincing people that I didn't mean to rebel (which I didn't) and that I was only trying to save myself and Peeta (which I was).

I'm trying to convince people of the truth. It's easy to convince someone of a lie. But the truth?

Not so easy.

So it's safe to say that when the train stops due to a malfunction, a malfunction that will take an hour to fix, and Effie flies into a state, exclaiming about schedules, it doesn't take me long to crack.

"No one cares, Effie!" I snap, causing everyone to look at me. Even Haymitch, who can't stand Effie, doesn't immediately come to my aid. This puts me on the defensive. "What?" I snap. "It's true."

The train suddenly feels stifling, and I'm overcome with the need to escape. I nearly fall out of my chair in my haste to flee the dining car, quickly finding the exit door Haymitch opened last night. I wrench it open, ignoring the alarm that begins to blare, and hop to the ground.

Instead of landing in snow like I did last night, the ground beneath me is dry. The air is warm and humid. The grass is green, as well as the leaves on the trees. How far south have we traveled in just a day? I don't give these thoughts much weight. I have more important things to think about, so I begin to walk along the tracks, listening to the gravel crunch under my feet. I'm wondering how far I can walk and still make it back to the train in my hour time limit.

So I'm surprised when I end up plopping down onto the ground after only a few hundred yards.

I just sit there, glaring at the gravel in front of me. It's not fair. All of this, everything, it's just not fair. I'm struck by the need to have Maya with me, to sit beside me silently and just let me pet her. It's odd to think how attached I am too her, considering both our natures. But she's been a friend to me since I found her at the lake. She doesn't judge me. She doesn't ask stupid questions. She just lets me be, and she sticks with me.

I hear Peeta before I see him. Even with his extra time in the woods, beyond the District 12 fence, his tread is still as loud as ever. Well, I take that back, it's _almost_ as loud as ever.

When he reaches me, he doesn't say anything at first. He just sits down beside me. I'm surprised when I'm the first one to break the silence. "I should apologize to Effie," I say, feeling a little bit guilty. Effie is all about manners and I probably broke at least a dozen of her etiquette rules. Besides, it's not her fault that President Snow is threatening to kill everyone I love.

"Don't be afraid to lay it on thick," Peeta replies as he plucks a tall strand of grass that's managed to rise up from beneath the gravel. He idly twirls it before beginning to tear off pieces a little at a time. "What's on your mind?" he finally asks.

I growl. "What do you think?" Now that we're away from the train I can say what I want, without bothering to filter my words. "It'll be a miracle if we pull this off," I tell him. "And you know it, no matter how hard you try and make it seem different. Someone can argue and try and persuade me of something all day, and at the end of the day, I will still believe what I believe, no matter what they said. It's the same thing here, Peeta! They're going to believe what they want. And if they want to see the berries as an act of rebellion, then they will."

Peeta's quiet, still slowly breaking apart the blade of grass. "I know," he finally says. "But we can't just give up, Katniss. We've got to try."

"And say that somehow we do manage to calm the districts," I continue. "What then? It's not like the Capitol will just leave us alone. They'll always be there, controlling us. Even if we do get married like Haymitch said, eventually that won't be enough either. They'll make us have kids."

It's been something I've successfully avoided thinking about until now, even though it's probably been floating around in the back of my mind. I might not be the most normal girl that daydreams about big weddings and the perfect guy and then making pretty babies. Still, it doesn't mean that the thought hasn't ever crossed my mind, however briefly.

Peeta would make a great father. It's as true as the fact that the sun will always rise in the east and set in the west. With his naturally kind and loving demeanor any child would be lucky to call him 'Dad.'

"Any kid we have will go straight into the Games, Peeta," I whisper. This is exactly why I don't want kids. If my child were reaped, I won't be able to volunteer like I did to save Prim. I'd have to stay behind and watch as he or she fought for their life, all for the sake of entertainment. I can't go through that. I just can't. "The child of the star-crossed lovers of District 12," I continue, my voice sounding lifeless. "It's a guarantee. The Capitol might even reap them the moment they turn twelve."

Peeta sighs angrily, running a hand through his hair. "You think I haven't thought of that already?" he snaps. "I hate how the Capitol is controlling us. I hate it. I don't have much. I don't _ask_ for much. But damn it, at least before the Games I was my own person, living by my own rules."

He glances at me, his face softening. "All I want is to love you and make you happy. If you're happy, then I am too. I just want you, and, yeah, eventually, a long way down the road, a house full of loud, obnoxious, rowdy kids that run around oblivious to anything thing we say." Peeta pauses to smile at me sadly before looking up toward the sky. "I just didn't think it'd be too much to ask for."

I sigh as a lean against him, resting my head on his shoulder. "It's not too much to ask for," I say softly. "And you know, no matter how scary it is, I don't think I'd mind being a mother." Because honestly, I'm more of a mother to Prim than a sister. "I think I would like it."

"But I can't put myself through the pain of knowing that any child we have will be put into the Games," I say. "It's not fair to them."

"It's not fair to us," Peeta adds quietly as he wraps his arm around me.

We sit there in silence for a long time. I think of everything Peeta and I have said. It's nice to know that we're both on the same page, but I do feel slightly guilty for unloading all of my anger onto him. Peeta doesn't deserve it, but he never complains. I don't deserve him. I really don't. He's too good for me, but anytime I tell him so he just flips my words right around and says that _I'm_ too good for _him_. Ha.

I think about what he's said, about what he wants from life. It's so picturesque. I can see it in my mind, his little vision, his dream. Peeta and I in his house in the Victor's Village. Little blonde-haired, blue-eyed kids running around, Peeta chasing after them . . . well, maybe one of them would have my features. Maybe my dark hair, Peeta's blue eyes . . .

I stop that train of thought. It's far too painful to think about.

Desperate for a distraction from my thoughts, I break the silence. "Thanks for letting me rant," I say. "My moods must be giving you whiplash."

Peeta chuckles tiredly, and holds me closer. "A little bit," he admits. "But I can deal."

I sigh. "We should probably head back to the train."

"Probably," he agrees getting to his feet, pulling me up with him. "And you still need to apologize to Effie."

I groan. I know that I owe Effie a big apology, and I've never been good at admitting I was wrong.

"Just think," Peeta says lightly. "It could be worse."

I don't see how.

Peeta wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. "You could be apologizing for sneaking into my room."

I shudder. That _would_ be worse. "But you'd be apologizing too."

Peeta shakes his head. "Nope. You attacked me, remember?"

"Forgive me for wanting to make sure you weren't dead," I snap a bit more harshly than I intended, but the memory of my nightmare is still fresh in my mind.

Peeta stops walking and turns to face me. "I won't leave you," he reassures me softly as his hands cradle my face. "You're stuck with me."

I remember my nightmare, how I'd been hunched over his dead body, yelling at him for leaving me. "Promise?" I whisper.

Peeta smiles before giving me a kiss, one that coaxes that fire in my stomach to a roaring flame. My skin feels hot and my heart is threatening to pound out of my chest. My hands, which were resting on his chest, are now fisted in his shirt, keeping him from pulling away from me. When we finally break away and acknowledge our need for oxygen, I feel Peeta's breath tickle my face as he kisses my cheek before whispering, "Promise."

* * *

**Yeah, Peeta's awesome.**

**So we're in District 11 next chapter. Things are the same, and yet things are different. You know me. There's a scene that I'm particularly fond of that involves my fav trio (aside from the Mellark Brothers), which is PK and Haymitch. So, lots of fun next chapter. :)**

**Quote! I must give you a quote! Hmm . . . Katniss?**

**"Seriously, no one can say something that romantic off the top of their head."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	9. Chapter 9

**************A/N: Guys, you continue to amaze me. Over 500 reviews already and we're not 10 chapters into the story! I think I'm going to die by happy dancing. **

**************Also, I said last chapter that we had an awesome PK/H convo. Yeah . . . that's next chapter. My bad. Hopefully this chapter is still entertaining. **

**************And I'm in a real hurry this morning, so I haven't edited this chapter. Let's hope there's not too many errors. If you find one, consider my wrist slapped.**

************** Movie quote for the day is from _The Dark Knight Rises_.**

**************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"

* * *

Chapter 9

Once we're back on the train, I find Effie and apologize profusely, knowing that if I don't, she probably won't accept it. I'm surprised and immensely relieved when she seems to understand the 'stress' that I'm under, and she can see how I would want to lash out. She advises me to choose someone else to lash out at next time I'm feeling too 'stressed.' Unsurprisingly, she suggests that next time I snap at Haymitch instead.

Peeta hardly has time to ask me how things went with Effie before both of us are swept away by our prep teams. It's not as bad as usual, though. Even if my prep team prattles on like there's no tomorrow, they're genuine in their desire to make me look good, even if they'd like to make a few more 'alterations' to me. Their suggestions remind me of the dim memory of Haymitch yelling during my stay in the hospital after the Games. The Capitol had wanted to make a few 'alterations' while I was knocked out, most notably breast implants. Thankfully, Haymitch fought them tooth and nail and I was spared the horror of waking up with a significantly larger chest.

Octavia paints my nails a delicate pink. Apparently we're still going for the whole 'innocent' angle with me, which honestly suits me just fine. I don't have to worry about wearing anything too uncomfortable or revealing. Flavius and Venia work to make-up my face, and I'm pleased that when they're finished I don't feel like my face is caked in make-up. As always, when I look in the mirror after they are finished, I still look like me . . . just different.

It really does make sense if you think about it. Maybe.

Flavius went a new direction with my hair this time, doing a style he hasn't done before. He curled my hair into fine ringlets before sweeping them over my left shoulder in a low side ponytail. I have to admit that I like it.

When they release me after only an hour, I amble down to Peeta's room. This time I knock, because I don't know if Peeta's done prepping. The door opens to reveal Peeta, looking as handsome as ever in a grey suit with a sunset orange dress shirt. The color matches my dress perfectly.

"Did you tell Cinna my favorite color?" Peeta asks as he looks at my dress.

"Maybe," I shrug indifferently. I may have mentioned it during one of our long phone conversations, discussing the plans for 'my' designs. "Cinna has good instincts."

"Uh huh," Peeta says, knowing that I've told Cinna, but letting me have my fun. "Sure."

I smile. "Come on, let's go take a look at District 11," I say. "We're almost there."

Peeta shrugs in reply, and together we make our way to the last car on the train. It's full of couches and chairs, but what's extra cool about it is that the walls retract to the ceiling, and then it's like you're riding in a glass box. It's like one huge window.

Just before we reach the last car we have to maneuver through the cargo car, which houses Peeta's paintings and all the clothes that I supposedly designed. I can't help but ask, "Why can't I see all of your paintings?"

"Because you wouldn't like the others," Peeta answers, glancing down at me. "They're not pretty."

"I'm sure they're just as good as the others," I say confused. "You can't paint a bad picture, Peeta."

Peeta stops walking and sighs, his eyes darting to the door on his left. "I guess it's about time for you to see them," he says, somewhat reluctantly.

Even though I'm eager to see the secret paintings he's kept hidden from me all these months, I can't help but be wary about his reluctance. "I don't have to see them if you don't want me to."

"No." Peeta rubs the back of his neck, a habit of his when he's stressed. "I'm tired of keeping you in the dark."

When he opens the door, I can't help the little bubble of excitement that settles within me. I've been extremely curious about his 'mystery' paintings, though I've always respected his wishes and refrained from going into his art studio. I can't help but wonder what it is about these paintings that make Peeta think that I won't like them.

The moment I step into the compartment, I understand _exactly_ why he thinks I won't like them, but he's wrong. I don't like them.

I _hate_ them.

Staring back at me, captured in perfect, gruesome detail are the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. I step away from Peeta and slowly walk down the aisles, only vaguely aware that he's following slightly behind me. There are some pictures that someone might not immediately recognize, but I do. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. A dry stream bed. Others, anyone would recognize. The golden horn of the Cornucopia. A snarling, blonde, green-eyed mutt—Glimmer—trying to fruitlessly claw her way up the Cornucopia. A flash of a sword slicing through flesh—Cato.

But that's not truly what catches my attention. The most prominent figure in all of these paintings is _me_. I'm everywhere. In a tree. Beating a shirt against the rocks. Cooking over a fire. Lying in a pool of blood. Standing on top of the Cornucopia, an arrow strung in my bow, as I aim at someone that isn't shown. I know who it is though. That must be how I looked when I was aiming at Cato, when he had Peeta in that headlock. Somehow, Peeta has managed to show me glaring fiercely, and yet in my grey eyes, all you see is fear and desperation.

There's another painting of me that catches my eye, and I can't help but stare at it more than the others. I'm emerging from a grey mist, the exact same color of my eyes. I look almost ethereal. Like I'm some sort of higher being. This must be how he thought I looked when his fever was at its highest.

I pause in my step, overcome by all that I'm seeing. My eyes cast a quick glance around me, but all I see are bold brushstrokes, full of a terror that I try and forget. And all Peeta seems to be doing is reliving it. "Why?" I ask. "How, even? How do you remember all of this detail?"

Peeta sighs. "I see them every night," he says softly. Nightmares, he means.

"Does it help?" I twine my fingers with his, wanting to comfort him. "To paint them?"

"They certainly haven't gone away, if that's what you mean," he replies, dropping my hand in favor of wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into his side.

"I feel guilty," I admit and Peeta looks down at me quizzically.

"What for?"

"I never know when you have nightmares," I tell him. It's true. Unlike me, Peeta doesn't thrash around and scream. Too many times I've woke him up while in the midst of one of my nightmares, and he's had to wake me up and calm me. "I can't be there for you like you are for me."

Peeta shakes his head. "You are there for me," he assures me. "All I have to do is wake up, and there you are. In my arms or practically on top of me," he adds with a small smirk before looking serious again. "But the point is that you're there. Safe with me. That's all the comfort I need."

I stare at him blankly for a moment. "You have to rehearse these lines," I say eventually, making him laugh, though it's slightly strained. "Seriously," I continue as I lead us both out of the compartment. "No one can be that romantic off the top of their head. You must have them written down somewhere."

I shut the door firmly behind us, blocking out all the horrors housed inside and focusing on Peeta. "So come on," I continue to tease him. "Fess up. Admit it."

"Okay," he sighs heavily and I wonder if he really does have them written down somewhere. That thought is dashed when he grins at me. "I really am that romantic. I admit it."

I scoff. "If only those lines worked on me. You're just wasting your breath."

"Really?" Peeta says as we open the door to the last train car. He flips the switch that retracts the walls and we both watch as they rise to reveal the clear glass. "Because you blush a lot for no reason then."

I blush.

He smirks.

Ignoring him for the time being, I focus on the view that surrounds us. The terrain is such a contrast from District 12. Mountains have been replaced with plains, wide expanses of fields dotted with wildflowers and grazing dairy cattle. The fields eventually give way to crops, and that's when we see the people of District 11. Men, women, and children dressed in light clothes and large straw hats to help block the bright sun, they take a break from their work to stretch and watch our train fly past. I can't help but be shocked by the sheer size of District 11 as the crop fields continue on. In school they simply say that 11 is a large district.

Big understatement.

In the distance, I can see the orchards where Rue worked. I wonder if the rest of her family is out there now, most likely they are, and I wonder if one of Rue's siblings has taken her job of climbing to the highest points in the trees. I wonder if they still use her little song to signal quitting time.

We continue through District 11 and just when the vastness is beginning to overwhelm me, the train begins to slow. I think it might be another fuel stop, but when I look out, I see that it's not.

"That's different," Peeta says as he eyes the thing.

It's a fence. At least thirty-five feet tall, the top of the fence coiled with barbed wire that looks infinitely more menacing than the one in District 12. Our fence in 12 looks pathetic in comparison to this one. I take note of the large steel plates that line the bottom of the fence. There would be no tunneling under to escape into the woods to hunt.

Also different are the watchtowers. Tall escarpments that have an armed guard at the top, constantly on the lookout. I glance warily at Peeta. Rue had told me that things were harsh, but I never imagined it to be like this. When Effie comes to get us to go over the schedule one last time, Peeta and I don't hesitate to follow her.

Effie begins to go through the plan, though I really don't pay much attention. It may be lazy of me, and a little bit selfish, but I know that Peeta will pay attention, and then he'll tell me what I need to know. Besides, Effie has been over the schedule a hundred times already.

Some of the stops on the Victory Tour are more lavish than others. In some districts we'll parade through the streets. While in others, like District 11, the celebration is much more subtle. The ceremony will be confined to the square in front of the Justice Building, which truly must have been a magnificent marble structure in its time, before its façade was covered with ivy and the roof sunken in.

The entire ceremony is really simple. It will be held on the veranda, an expanse of tiled floor in between the front doors of the Justice Building and the stairs in front of it. Luckily, the veranda is shaded by a roof supported by columns. Peeta and I will be introduced and then the mayor of 11 will read a speech, honoring us, after which Peeta and I will reply with scripted thank-yous provided by the Capitol. However, it's considered a good grace to add a few personal notes to your thank-yous, mentioning the tributes from the District.

This is the hard part for me. Every time I think about Rue and Thresh, especially Rue, I get emotional. I tried to write down something that I could say, but I always ended up frustrated, a blank piece of paper staring up at me hours later. I'm grateful that Peeta is better with words than I am because we took his thank-you and quirked it a little bit so that it could come from both of us.

After our obligatory thank-you, the mayor will present us with a plaque and then we'll have a brief break where our prep teams will prepare us for the banquet afterward that takes place in the Justice Building.

All in all, everything should go smoothly. Of course, the fact that I have to face the mourning families of Thresh and Rue does damper my cautious hope for things to go well. Hell, who am I kidding? No matter how smoothly things go, I'm going to be miserable.

Cinna comes up to make the finishing touches on my outfit, securing my mockingjay pin to my dress and switching out my orange headband for a gold one. Portia is franticly trying to fix Peeta's hair, which seems to be insistent on being as unruly as it can be. Finally, exasperated, Peeta gently grabs her wrists to get her to stop fussing. He says something softly to her that I can't hear, and Portia smiles ruefully. I can't help but notice the fondness they have for each other. And even though Portia is probably only ten years older, there's almost a maternal glint in her eye as she makes sure that Peeta's outfit is in order, swiping at dirt on his jacket that isn't there. I make a note to ask Peeta about it later.

Instead of a crowd waiting for us when the train doors open, we're met with eight mean-looking Peacekeepers. Peeta takes my hand as we're escorted to what I can only describe as an armored truck and 'asked' to sit in the back. Effie is already in a state.

"The nerve of some people," she tisks. "You'd think we were criminals."

Peeta and I share a glance. _Not you, Effie,_ I think. _Just me and Peeta_.

The moment the truck comes to a stop, the doors are opened and we're escorted into the Justice Building. I'm immediately hit with the delicious smells of cooking food that will be served at the banquet, but even these tasty smells cannot completely overcome the stench of mildew and rot.

It seems like mere seconds before Peeta and I are standing behind a large group of doors. Already, the mayor is speaking, about to welcome us out. My heart is hammering as Cinna clips my microphone onto my dress; the full weight of our situation hits me. It all beings today, mine and Peeta's task of calming the districts. I glance up at Peeta and I know he's thinking the same thing. He leans down and places a comforting kiss in my hair just as the doors open with a loud, strained creak.

Both of us straighten up and we're all smiles as we step out onto the veranda and walk toward where the mayor is set up at a podium. The crowd applauds loudly, but that's probably only because there are so many people. The square is completely packed, and yet I know that this can't even be a mere fraction of their population. I have no doubt that there are thousands more still at work in the fields.

The mayor gives his speech and while Peeta and I wait for him to finish so we can respond with our thanks, I'm wondering how I'm going to show that I'm crazy in love with Peeta. Emphasis on the 'crazy' so it's believable that I was so consumed by my feelings when I pulled out those berries to save us both that I wasn't thinking about defying the Capitol. Which I wasn't.

But that's not what the people want to believe, and I don't know how to take back the hope I seem to have given them. I, for one, know how much you can cling to a single shred of hope. And this knowledge only makes my task that much harder.

I focus my thoughts when Peeta begins to speak, delivering his Capitol-issued thanks to the tributes of District 11. I say my piece when he's finished, immensely grateful to my mother and Prim who drilled the words into my head. Two little girls timidly hand Peeta and I a bouquet of flowers, and I can't help but be reminded of Rue, who hid behind a tree when I first found her in the arena. Or rather, when she found me.

Peeta begins to speak again in that personable, easy-going way of his as he addresses Thresh and Rue's families. He talks of how he owes both Thresh and Rue a debt that he can never repay. Because by my teaming up with Rue, and because Thresh spared my life, I was not only able to live, but I was also able to keep Peeta alive as well.

As Peeta speaks I can't help but look at Thresh and Rue's families. They're sitting on a small platform at the foot of the stage. On Thresh's side, only two people sit. An aged, and yet tough-looking woman, who I assume must be his grandmother. Beside her sits a tall, muscular, athletic girl that must be Thresh's sister. However, it's Rue's family that truly breaks my heart. Her parent's faces are still fraught with grief. Her five younger siblings all look so much like her that it's unreal. They all have that same stance, like a bird about to take flight, particularly the oldest, a girl that looks like a miniature copy of Rue, maybe nine years old.

And this little girl is glaring at me reproachfully. I know why, and I'm filled with guilt. She's upset because I have yet to thank Rue. I've stayed silent and let Peeta do all the talking. I know that Rue would have said something about me if she had won. I owe her the same courtesy.

The mayor begins to wrap up the ceremony, but I step away from Peeta, toward the families. "Wait," I say, my voice cracking in my nervousness. "Wait." My time for speaking has passed, but I can't leave here without saying something. "Just, wait, please." I look at Rue's sister again. "I need to say something."

What, exactly, I have no idea, but I know how to start. "I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District 11." My eyes settle on Thresh's family. "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that."

I feel oddly flustered and relieved now that the words are off my chest. They came so easily to me that I know they must have been lurking in the back of my mind all this time. Thresh's grandmother raises her head to look at me, and I see a faint smile playing on her lips. I give her a small smile, before steeling myself and turning to face Rue's family.

"But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." My throat is threatening to close, but I swallow and force myself to finish. I'm grateful to microphone pinned to my chest because otherwise I don't know if anyone would have heard me when I say, "Thank you for your children." I lift my gaze from them to let my eyes sweep over the crowd. "And thank you for the bread."

You could have heard a pin drop the entire time I spoke, but I didn't really notice the silence until I finished speaking. There's a very pregnant pause before I hear Rue's little four-note tune in a clear whistle. My eyes find the whistler and I see that it's an old man, dressed in a frayed red flannel shirt and a dirty pair of overalls.

What happens next both moves me and terrifies me at the same time. The move is too uniform to be spontaneous. I watch in horror and amazement as everyone in the square places three fingers to their lips before holding them out to me in a salute. It's the very same goodbye I gave Rue in the arena, a special goodbye that we in District 12 use.

I'm in trouble. I'm in more trouble now than I've ever been. I hear the static sound of my microphone being turned off, and the mayor immediately jumps into his closing remarks. Peeta takes my hand again and I don't look at him, but I know by the way he's gripping my hand that he's just as worried as I am.

I screwed up. Big time. President Snow told us to calm the districts, and look what I have done. What will he think when he sees an entire square of people saluting me, the girl who defied the Capitol? No amount of kisses or hugs will convince these people that I was simply infatuated and overwhelmed by love when I pulled out those berries. These people will cling to their hope.

Dread fills me and keeps my lips sealed shut. I only meant to express my thanks. That's all I wanted, but all I've done is enabled the people of District 11 to boldly show their dissent to the Capitol. This is exactly the kind of thing I was supposed to be preventing!

An applause causes me to look up, and I see that the ceremony is over. Peeta and I acknowledge them before he begins to lead me back into the Justice Building. He reaches up with his free hand and clips off his mic, before balling it tightly in his fist.

"It's not your fault," he whispers, keeping his voice low just in case the microphone might still pick him up. "You couldn't have known that they would do that."

My voice seems to be refusing to work. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Finally, I manage, "I-I didn't mean to . . ."

"I know," Peeta assures me.

While we've been talking we've unconsciously ceased walking back toward the doors of the Justice Building. If only we had been able to walk and talk at the same time. Instead, hidden by the shadows of the veranda, we see the entire thing.

The old man who whistled Rue's tune is led to the top of the steps by a group of Peacekeepers and harshly forced onto his knees before the crowd. When the gunshot goes off, I freeze, horrified, as the old man crumples to the ground, a pool of blood staining the steps from the bullet hole in his head.

* * *

**Well, Katniss has now seen Peeta's paintings and knows that Peeta really can be that romantic off the top of his head. ;)**

**And someone died. Can't forget that. :(**

**So, next chapter has a great convo between PK and Haymitch. Promise. **

**Quote from Chapter 10 comes from Haymitch!**

**"You two are screwed."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	10. Chapter 10

**************A/N: Okay, as usual, I have to thank all of you for your awesomeness. Almost at 600! Dudes, this is awesome. Like, super-crazy-I-cannot-believe-this awesome. **

**************So . . . all of you are looking forward to a wonderful convo between PK and Haymitch (hopefully) . . . but, alas, the true gem of this chapter all revolves around PK. So, just to tease you guys, think of every single romantic thing Peeta has ever said, multiply by 1000, and you can get a sense of how awesome he is this chapter. Just wait and smile and giggle. ;)**

**************Okay! Movie quote of the day is from _Iron Man_.**

**************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."

* * *

Chapter 10

Almost a second after the shot is fired, the Peacekeepers descend upon us, their weapons held length-wise as they corral Peeta and I back into the Justice Building. They're rather rough about it though, and when one Peacekeeper shoves me forward, Peeta has had enough. "We're going!" he says as he shoves the Peacekeeper away from me. "We get it, alright? Back off." His arm wraps around my waist and I lean into him, still shocked about the execution of the old man.

The moment we're through the doors, the Peacekeepers return back to the crowd, leaving Peeta and I in a room of the Justice Building. Our entrance is met with four anxious gazes—Cinna, Portia, Effie, and Haymitch. All of them are huddled under a now static-filled television screen, and I can tell that they'd been watching intently until the screen cut out.

"What happened?" Effie asks as she hurries over to us. "We lost the feed just after Katniss's beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard a gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!"

I can't help but glance at Haymitch, who is staring at Peeta and me intently. If I didn't know any better I'd think that there was genuine concern hidden his eyes, masked by his anger that he was managing to contain.

"Nothing happened, Effie," Peeta assures her, though even I can hear how his voice is measured. It's a wonder Effie doesn't notice. "An old truck backfired."

His lie is not helped when there are two more shots immediately after his words. I can't help but wonder who else is now dead because of me. It's all my fault. All of this. The berries. The uprisings. All of it. My fault.

It probably would have been easier on everyone if I had just died in the arena.

"Both of you," Haymitch barks. "With me."

Peeta and I don't hesitate to follow our mentor. We say nothing has he leads us up what was once a magnificently carved marble staircase that is now cracking and turning to dust. Once we ascend the stairs, we follow him through two big wooden doors that lead into a large room. The walls are covered with peeling, mildewed wallpaper depicting fruits and colors and little, fat babies with angel's wings. Our evening wear is hanging on a rack along the back wall. Apparently, this is the room we've been given to prepare for the banquet.

Haymitch only pauses long enough for Peeta and I to set our gifts down before he rips off my microphone, grabs Peeta's, and then stuffs them both under a seat cushion of the couch. Haymitch then proceeds to lead us down winding hallways and narrow staircases, gradually ascending higher and higher. As far as I know, Haymitch has only been here once, on his own Victory Tour nearly twenty-five years ago. I think that he must have a remarkable memory.

Finally, after climbing the ricketiest set of stairs to ever exist (I was sure my foot was going to go through every step), Haymitch pries open a trap door and when I finally climb through, a little winded by the amount of stairs I've climbed, I take a moment to look around.

The place is covered in such a thick layer of dust that I wonder how many years it's been since someone was last up here. Here, being a small, dome-shaped room at the very top of the Justice Building, filled with mildewed couches, broken tables, and old weapons. In other words, it's the perfect place to talk and not be overheard, by people or a listening device.

"What happened?" Haymitch snaps gruffly, his arms folded across his chest.

"I couldn't just not say anything," I say, my voice sounding small. "I owed it to them to say something. I didn't mean to screw everything up!"

Haymitch sighs. He looks to Peeta. "What did she do this time?"

Peeta gives Haymitch a glare. "It really wasn't her fault. No one could have known how the people were going to react." I can practically see Haymitch's patience running out, like sand in an hourglass, and apparently Peeta does too because he begins to explain. "After Katniss spoke to the families, an old man whistled Rue's song, and then . . . it was really amazing, honestly . . . everyone in the square saluted her, the same salute we use in 12. It couldn't have been spontaneous." Peeta sighs and looks at me. "I'm assuming they cut Katniss's microphone, and then the mayor wrapped up everything. We were just walking back inside, but we stopped and looked back and . . ."

"They dragged the old man up on stage and executed him," Peeta says, his voice strained. "The old man who whistled. They just hauled him up there and shot him in front of everyone."

Peeta looks away and I know that he's done talking for a while. I look up at Haymitch, wordlessly asking if there's any part of this that we can salvage. "You two are screwed."

Yeah. I thought so.

"I'd still go through with the engagement though," Haymitch says and I note that he looks more haggard than I've ever seen him. And I've seen him on one of his binges. More than one, actually. "Just on the off chance that the gods are smiling on you," he adds with his trademark sarcasm.

"It was never going to work," I say quietly. "People will believe what they want to believe, what they _need_ to believe."

"You gave them a reason to hope," Haymitch shrugs. "What's better than young love triumphing over tyranny?"

It's the first treasonous thing Haymitch as ever said to me sober. I wonder how long he's harbored these thoughts. Knowing Haymitch and his surly, sarcastic smarts, probably since he was our age, if not younger. Haymitch has an ability to see right to the core of things. I have no doubt that it's how he won his Games. He's probably the smartest, most calculative of us all.

Even if he is a big jerk.

"We'll still keep trying," Peeta says, speaking for the first time since his explanation of the events on the veranda. "We don't have a choice. Snow threatened our families. I can't just give up."

"I wouldn't necessarily worry about them," Haymitch says, causing both Peeta and I to glare incredulously at him. He holds up his hands, a sign of surrender. "Just listen before you throw a fit. If you two don't live up to Snow's expectations, he'll come after _you_. You cut off the head, the rest of the body is useless."

"But he's so cruel," I say. "He wouldn't make it that easy on us."

"He doesn't have time," Haymitch replies easily. "District 11 isn't the only district that's seething underneath. His first priority is containing the uprisings, and since you two are their symbol, the easiest way to crush their hopes would be to kill you two."

"Or our deaths could just as easily incite them to act," Peeta counters evenly.

"The likelihood of that isn't too great." Haymitch pauses to take a long swig from his flask. I don't even begrudge him for it. I'd be drinking too right about now if that were how I coped. "Their hope is fragile. They, themselves, are fragile. Fragile is easy to break."

I'm shaking my head. I know a thing or two about clinging to your last hope. "No it's not," I argue, my gaze lingering on Peeta as I say, "When you grasp that final shred of hope, you hold on and never let go."

Peeta's eyes meet mine and we stare at each other for a moment before he manages a small smile. "You still don't know," he says softly. "The effect you have."

Even in our dire situation, Haymitch, as usual, whenever Peeta and I get 'love struck,' snarls. "That's enough of the googly-eyes." He practically shudders, though I know that secretly he actually cares for us. Why else would he still be helping us? "Get out of here. They're bound to be looking for us."

He's right, just not in the way I originally thought. I thought he meant Peacekeepers, but when I see Cinna and Portia coming toward us, looking harried, I can't help the burst of relief that floods me. Although, considering the events and revelations of today, I'm not too thrilled when Cinna leads me away and Portia drags Peeta in the opposite direction. I don't want to be away from him, worried that Snow might send some super assassin to kill him.

Great. My paranoia is continuing to grow in leaps and bounds.

I stand in the shower so long that my prep team actually has to come in and get me before they start prepping me. I don't even have to try to tune out their Capitol prattle as they go to work on me. My mind is still trying to comprehend the events of the past few days. In mere days, I've gone from happily waking up in bed with Peeta, to being threatened by President Snow, to basically giving more ammunition for uprisings when I'm supposed to be defusing them, and now it as all blown up in my face. How can I have caused so much trouble? I'm only one girl.

Those damn berries.

I close my eyes, focusing my mind on the conversation with Haymitch and Peeta in the dome. Basically, we all acknowledged that our mission given to us by President Snow is doomed to fail, but that we really don't have to worry about the repercussions affecting our families because it'd be smarter for Snow to just kill us and save himself the time.

Great.

But there was really no saving our task of quieting the uprising districts. As I said, people will believe what they want. Yes, you can sway them with the right words and actions, but there comes a point when desperation is at its lowest. And you look for anything that could possibly make you hope for something. I've been there. For me, I found Peeta, even though I didn't realize it that night in the rain. For the people of District 11, they saw, as Haymitch said, young love—me and Peeta—triumphing over the Capitol.

I can't help but think of one of my realizations I made in the cave, when I had discovered that I loved Peeta. I couldn't help but ponder 'love.' I quickly came to the conclusion that it was a powerful force. This fact is definitely proving to be true. Apparently, it can move nations.

Scary thought.

When I'm all made up, I look as beautiful as I always do. It's crazy how Cinna and my prep team work their magic to make me look like this. The dress I'm wearing, a floor length, pale pink strapless, is gorgeous.

"What do you think?" Cinna asks as he drapes a silver wrap around my shoulders, making sure to be wary of the multitude of ringlets that cascade down my back.

"It's lovely," I tell him sincerely, giving him a small smile. "As always."

Cinna offers me a small smile in thanks, and I wonder if he knows of the events of the day. Well, at least the part where the whistler was executed after the ceremony. It wouldn't be good for him to know of Snow's threats . . . even if I have to fight the urge to confide everything to him practically every second I'm with him.

We all meet up before we're supposed to make our entrance at the banquet. I'm immediately at Peeta's side and his hand is grasping mine in the next second. Even amidst all this chaos, he is still my rock, always there to steady me. He's always the strong one.

It's easy to see that Effie is just a little out of sorts. At the end of her quick skimming-over of the itinerary, she tosses the schedule aside and says, "And then we can get on the train and get out of here."

"Something wrong, Effie?" I ask, and she snorts delicately.

"I don't like the way we've been treated. Being stuffed into trucks and barred from the platform. And then, about an hour ago, I decided to look around the Justice Building. I'm something of an expert in architectural design, you know," she rants.

Before our silence gets too long, Portia pipes up. "Oh, yes. I do believe I heard that."

Effie nods in acknowledgment before she continues. "So, I was just having a peek around because district ruins are going to be all the rage this year, when two Peacemakers showed up and ordered me back to our quarters. One of them actually poked me with her gun!"

This is all Haymitch's fault. Not that he cares. Not that I really care, either. After Peeta and I had been ushered into the Justice Building after the fiasco outside, the Peacekeepers really didn't pay that much attention to us. And after all, why should they? We were 'safe' inside. But, naturally, they'd have to notice our absence.

I sincerely doubt that anyone could escape to our little dome room without being caught. Not after our disappearing act.

Of course, I'm not about to tell Effie this.

Instead, I say, "That's awful, Effie." I surprise myself and probably everyone else when I give her a hug. "Maybe we shouldn't go to the dinner at all." I suggest, the hopeful tinge in my voice irrefutable. "At least until they've apologized."

Effie shakes her head, though I know she feels better that I acknowledged her complaint. "No, I'll mange. It's part of my job to weather the ups and downs. And we can't let you two miss your dinner," she says. "But thank you for the offer Katniss."

I admit that even though I knew she wouldn't say, "Yes! Let's hop on the train!" I am still slightly disappointed because I have to stay for the dinner. Because honestly, like after all bad days, I just want to curl up in bed with Peeta and stay there. Or if Maya were here, I'd probably go into the woods with her. Shoot something. Make myself feel better.

But seeing as how that's not an option . . . I resign my fate to the dinner.

Effie makes sure that we're all lined up in the proper order, reminding us how many steps we each have to wait before we enter the hall. The prep teams go first, then Effie, then Cinna and Portia, Haymitch, and then last but certainly not least, Peeta and I bring up the rear.

Peeta leans down and whispers, "I know it's probably the last thing on your mind, but you look beautiful."

"It is the last thing on my mind," I say bluntly before looking up at him with a smile, a blush staining my cheeks. "But thank you."

Peeta smiles before saying tiredly, yet determinedly, "I don't know how, but somehow we're going to win this game." He squeezes my hand. "You and me. Together."

"How do you know?" I ask, unable to believe him, though I desperately want to.

"Because I've got to believe that there's still some good in this world."

I don't have a chance to reply before Peeta glances at Haymitch, who's already entered the banquet hall. "Got to go," he says before leading us forward.

This begins a process that seems never ending. We continue through the districts one by one. We parade through the streets. The mayor honors us. We say thank-you, only the Capitol scripted ones. No more personal touches that incite rebellion. Move on to the dinner. Back to the train.

And repeat.

Peeta and I still play up the love angle, really being over the top. So over the top in fact, that it's actually difficult, and at the end of the day, Peeta and I almost want nothing to do with the other, instead retreating to our separate compartments until night falls and we end up together in one of our compartments, usually his. All the affection, all the kisses, the hugs, pretending to sneak off for some alone time and purposely getting caught. All of it wasn't _us_. Both of us, in reality, are much more subtle. I mean, we still kissed. Peeta never lets me go a day without at least one hug. And when we actually do sneak off for alone time, we _never_ get caught.

Like for instance, in District 4, the fishing district, Peeta and I were able to sneak away and walk along the beach. And in District 7 we were able to escape into the woods for a little while, if only to give me some semblance of normalcy.

When we finally reach the Capitol, I'm relieved, a little bit at least, simply because the end is in sight. The Capitol citizens welcome us back with open arms that quickly surround you and ruin every thought of escape. It's stifling, the energy in the air. They chant our names just as loudly and just as chaotically as they did when Peeta and I first made our fiery debut during opening ceremonies. It's an odd case of déjà vu.

As I'm being prepped for our interview with Caesar Flickerman, I hardly notice my prep team as they make me up. I'm focusing on the fact that Peeta is going to propose to me during the interview, in front of the entire nation. We have it all planned out. And it would bother me, the fact that such a personal moment, one that's only supposed to be shared between the two of us, is to be broadcast for the entirety of Panem to see. But I don't have to worry about this, because Peeta has already proposed, and I've already said 'yes.'

It was our last travel day on the train before reaching the Capitol. Peeta and I spent the entire day lounging around. We talked a little bit about everything as he absently painted on a canvas, the picture on it suspiciously beginning to look more and more like me as he continued. I did remember to ask him about his relationship with Portia, thinking of the maternal glint in the stylist's eye. Peeta admitted, somewhat embarrassed, that Portia was more like a mother to him than he'd ever known. "It's nice, you know," he said softly, though there was sadness in his tone. "To have someone to mess with your hair, remind you to eat, to fuss over making you look good for your girlfriend." He'd shrugged. "Safe to say my mother doesn't do any of those things. All she does is yell and insult and hit you when you screw up."

I _really_ hate his mother. Intensely so.

Aside from that little bit of conversation, we'd had a fairly enjoyable day. After dinner, we'd gone back to his compartment. The painting he'd been working on all day was sitting on an easel in the corner of the room. As I'd suspected earlier, it was a picture of me. Once again, he'd painted me looking far more beautiful than I can ever be. I easily recognized the memory that he'd put to canvas. It was from our day at the lake, our first official date. After his impromptu swimming lesson, we had both laid out on the soft grass along the bank, letting the sun dry us out. He'd painted me with my hair fanned out around me, water droplets glistening in the sun. My eyes were shining brightly, looking happier than I would have thought possible.

But I barely catalogued all of this in my mind. All I could really see, all I could really focus on, were the words that he'd written in the top left hand corner.

_Will you marry me?_

I'd turned back to face him, only to find him down on one knee. I was practically in a daze as he took my hand, too surprised and shocked to say anything. Though, I did vaguely realize that I really wasn't supposed to say anything—yet.

Peeta smiled, looking slightly nervous. "Katniss, you are, without a doubt, the most amazing person I've ever met. You're fierce in your desire to protect what's yours. You have a strength that I will never know for myself. Your heart shines of love and compassion so brightly that it blinds me. There's an art in everything you do that I will never be able to capture on canvas. Katniss, you're simply stunning."

I wasn't aware that I was crying until I saw a tear splash on Peeta's hand that held mine.

"I've been in love with you for eleven years. And in that time I've dreamed about so many different things. First dates. First kisses. Lots of firsts. In reality, none of it happened the way I'd dreamed, and that's perfectly okay. This way was better. _Our_ way was better. I wake up in the morning with my arms around you and I wonder if all of this is really real. If our love is just some fantastic dream that I didn't know I had the creativity to imagine. But then you wake up too, and you smile at me, and I know that it's real. What we have is real."

Peeta meets my eyes and smiles at me, unshed tears causing his blue orbs to glisten. "So, Katniss Everdeen, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Naturally, when I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out. So, I threw my arms around him kissed him, putting as much love into it as I could. When we finally pulled away, I looked deep into his eyes, and smiled, my answer easily slipping from my lips. "Yes."

And then I'd stood and picked up a paintbrush, where I also wrote a big 'YES' in all caps under his written proposal.

I'm pulled out of my memory when my prep team leaves, wishing me luck on the interview. Cinna comes in wearing a small smile. I'd told him of Peeta's proposal the night before on the train. Cinna had merely smiled, gave me a big hug, and then promptly begin muttering about designs for wedding dresses, an almost feverish, giddy look in his eye as he contemplated the possibilities. We even tossed around a few ideas.

But now Cinna unzips the garment bag and reveals my dress for the evening. I have to smile. The dress is the exact color of Peeta's eyes, a beautiful summer sky blue. "Cinna," I say softly as the silky smooth strands of the dress caress my skin. "It's wonderful."

"I thought you'd like it," he says as he hands me my shoes, strappy silver heels that look tortuous, but after taking a few steps in them, I find that they aren't all that bad.

Our interview with Caesar goes smoothly. Right when he asks Peeta and me about our plans for the future, Peeta promptly gets down on one knee and proposes to me again. He doesn't repeat anything of what he said in his real proposal and I'm grateful. It gives the real proposal more authenticity. It makes it more ours. Only Peeta and I know what words were said.

Still, his second proposal moves me to tears, which irritates me because I hate crying on camera, but I suck it up and deal with it because I know it's good for our last final attempt to assuage the uprising districts.

The crowd, of course, goes utterly ballistic when I say 'yes.' They're screaming and hollering their congratulations. I even hear some of them begging for wedding invitations. But all of this fades into the background when President Snow comes onto the stage. He grasps Peeta's hand and gives him an approving slap on the shoulder. He plants a puffy kiss on my cheek in congratulations and I control the involuntary shiver that runs through me and the intense desire to wash my face. The smell of blood and roses is nearly overwhelming as we hold each other's gazes for a moment. Asking what my lips cannot, I raise my eyebrows in question.

I'm asking him if Peeta and I were successful, if our performance was good enough, if we somehow managed to calm the districts. And even though I've known what his answer would be since practically the beginning, I still feel a crushing sense of dread drop like a weight in my stomach when he gives a minute shake of his head.

And my fleeting hope for a miracle is slain.

* * *

**Yeah, I love writing marriage proposals. They're so much fun . . . especially when they come from Peeta . . .**

**(sighs)**

**Peeta, you are golden, honey. Golden.**

**So, there you go. And, while I'm at it, I think I'll give you a Peeta quote from the next chapter.**

**"Some of those guys are lucky to still be walking."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oo!**

**Yeah, I'm over 600. This is awesome.**

**Thanks for being fantastic.**

**Also, I've been getting some questions about me and what I'm like, so I'll give you a brief run down and help you put a name to a face. I'm an eighteen year old freshman in college pursuing a major in English (surprise, surprise). I'm a 5'8 brunette with a sassy attitude and only laugh at things that are funny. I have an extremely dry sense of humor (sarcasm is my best friend). I tend to give 'shop til you drop' a whole new meaning (seriously, wear comfortable shoes if you ever shop with me). My taste in music can range from Eminem to Beethoven, but I really like hair bands. Bon Jovi, Scorpions, Def Leppard, Journey, AC/DC, with the occasional Black Sabbath thrown into the mix. However, my all-time love is Jazz. Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald own my heart, along with Glenn Miller. I tend to start my day with "In the Mood" playing loud and clear and my morning is not complete without it. All-time favorite Jazz song is "Dream A Little Dream Of Me." All-time favorite song in general is Eric Clapton's acoustic version of "Layla." Listen to it and sigh contentedly. As you can see, all I really do in life is shop, listen to music, and read and write. Which, by the way, I'm a huge HP and LOTR fan. I think _Twilight_ is ridiculous because vampires should _not_ sparkle, though I admit that I have a soft spot for Alice and Jasper. My favorite book of all-time is _Wuthering Heights. _My favorite musical is _Les Miserables_. Oh, and I LOVE superheroes! Iron Man rocks my socks off.**

**So that's a little about me. It's kinda jumpy, but that's just how my brain works. Tangents and I get along great.**

**Back to the story, I'm thrilled that all of you liked Peeta's proposal. He's got some really romantic tricks up his sleeve in this story. The proposal is only one of many. :)**

**But, in this chapter, Peeta gets to be the possessive, overprotective Peeta that we all know and love. **

**Movie quote for today comes from _The Avengers_.**

******************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."

* * *

Chapter 11

You would think that after receiving such bad news that I, in turn, would feel bad. After all, President Snow just told me, wordlessly of course, that Peeta and I have failed to live up to his expectations. We have not subdued the districts. You would think that this would upset me.

Oddly enough, I feel relieved.

Simply because it's over, because I don't have to worry about it anymore. What will come, will come, and all I can do is try to prepare myself for it. Peeta and I had both acknowledged that our quest in tempering the uprisings was doomed to fail. President Snow's dissenting verdict doesn't surprise me. Aside from the dissention in District 11, with their very public display of rebellion, other districts also showed signs of unrest. Most specifically in Districts 8, 4, and 3. The people wore genuine expressions of elation when they saw us, and beneath that elation was an equally genuine sense of fury. When they called our names, it was more a chant for vengeance than a simple cheer. When the Peacekeepers pushed them, they pushed back instead of shrinking away. No amount of love could stop this. Instead, it seems to be fueling it.

So I'm not going to worry. I believe what Haymitch said, about Snow going after us before our families. It doesn't make sense to waste that much time torturing us when he has much bigger things to deal with. There's nothing that I can do.

President Snow offers us his personal congratulations, even wrapping an arm around me and facing the audience before saying, "What do you think about us throwing them a wedding right here in the Capitol?"

Anyone who says that I can't act is a liar because at Snow's words I manage a hideously girlish shriek that actually sounds genuine. Even I'm impressed—slightly mortified that I am capable of producing such a ghastly sound—but still impressed.

The audience goes wild at Snow's suggestion, and once they quiet down, Caesar Flickerman asks the president if he has a date in mind. I'm stunned when Snow produces a hearty chuckle and says, "Oh, before we set a date, we better clear it with Katniss's mother."

Oh, my mother. I haven't really thought about it much, but I know I'm going to get a firm talking-to when I get home. And she'll probably talk to Peeta, too. Oh, the joy this thought brings me.

"You'll probably have to pass a new law," I say with a giggle, but on the inside there's a part of me that's not really joking.

"If that's what it takes," Snow says humorously, and the audience cheers him on.

Yep. Me and Snow could definitely work a comedy act.

When Snow finally releases me, I immediately latch onto Peeta, hugging his arm, and I don't plan on letting go anytime soon. I'm also resisting the urge to take off my dress and burn it because Snow touched it. Two things stop me. One, I really don't feel like attending the Capitol's party in my underwear. And two, I don't think Cinna, or myself for that matter, would ever forgive me for destroying such a gorgeous dress.

Peeta takes my hand and we're led to the party. It's held in the gloriousness of President Snow's mansion, and it's truly magnificent. Forty-foot high ceilings. Towering columns. A marble floor. Dozens of fine, plush couches and chairs litter the banquet hall, surrounding fireplaces or small ponds filled with exotic fish.

But the food is what gets me. Table upon table upon table of food line the walls. In just one cursory glance of all the food nearest me, I see every dish that I've ever had while in the Capitol. But for every dish that is familiar to me, there are probably at least thirty that I don't recognize. All the stress from the Tour caused me to lose a little weight, Cinna even had to take in a few of my dresses at the waist.

Somehow I think that I'll manage to put that weight back on tonight.

"I want to taste everything," I tell Peeta and he looks at me curiously, no doubt wondering why I appear to be in such a good mood when death is dangling over our heads. Imminent threats make me slightly giddy. One of these days I'm just going to crack and declare myself insane.

However, his eyes only convey their slight confusion briefly because the cameras are on us. "Then you'd better pace yourself," he chuckles as he looks at all the food.

"Okay then," I say as I lead us toward the first table that is laden with at least twenty different soups. "One bite of each dish."

Peeta and I slowly work our way through the tables. Everything is delicious of course, but some things seem practically divine. A pink soup dotted with raspberries. A frothy pumpkin flavored concoction sprinkled with silver seeds. Bits of baked chicken and noodles in a creamy white sauce. Chocolate covered strawberries. The endlessness of the food is daunting and we've barely made it through three tables before I can't eat another bite.

But I force myself to make room for a piece of meat from a small bird. Orange sauce bursts into my mouth as I take a bite and I close my eyes to savor it. I give the rest to Peeta for him to eat. Neither of us believes in wasting food. Living in District 12, it's something that no one would ever dare of doing.

Peeta and I make no move to mingle, but it doesn't matter. The guests of the party flock to congratulate us and almost always find some way to work in a word or two about the Games. They prattle on and on about their favorite moments, and I'm regretting the amount of food I ate when someone tells me that they thought it was the coolest thing ever when I stabbed Glimmer in the chest with my arrow before loading it in my bow and firing it at Clove.

All of the people that surround us begin to make me feel claustrophobic, but what is infinitely worse is how clingy the Capitol people are. They see no problem in just coming up and hugging a complete stranger. This bothers me in a way I can't accurately describe. I've never been a touchy-feely person. I'm not used to being touched. So when someone, a Capitol someone dressed in a flamboyantly pink and green suit with metallic gold hair comes up and tries to wrap an arm around me, I mold myself to Peeta's side, rejoicing when his arm wraps firmly and possessively around my waist, his hand resting low on my hip.

The possessiveness doesn't even bother me. The protective way he stands slightly in front of me doesn't even bother me. I would rather deal with that (annoying as it is) than keep having to dodge and avoid clingy Capitol people and their wandering hands. Peeta is having the same problem I am, though strangely enough, all his admirers seem to be females, dressed as provocatively as possible. I even heard one of them ask him to sign her breast.

I gave her my best glare and she shrank away so quickly it was like she feared for her life. Good. It had been my intention.

It's safe to say that not even an hour into the party, Peeta and I are practically trembling with the need to escape. The hours pass tortuously slow, and my need for escape grows exponentially with each passing minute. The more the men drink, the more they leer at me in a way that makes me acutely uncomfortable and Peeta hold me even closer. The situation is also true for Peeta, except it's the females that keep drinking and leering and at one point it infuriates me so much that right when another flock of giggly girls come up to talk to Peeta, I kiss him so thoroughly that it's indecent in such a public setting.

The kiss leaves Peeta staring at me dazedly and the girls scurrying away. Mission accomplished.

I reach up on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Let's get out of here."

Peeta wraps both arms around me, pulling me flush against his chest, so it looks to the cameras like we're having a moment. He gives me a kiss before whispering against my lips, "Best idea you've ever had," he replies and I smile.

Now the only question is how in the hell we're going to execute our plan. How do we slip away without anyone noticing?

My eyes scan the room, looking for any doors that lead out of this torture chamber. Okay, that's a little bit dramatic, but if I see one more person with crazy-colored hair coming after me I'm going to punch whoever it is in the face. Somehow, I don't think that my actions would go over well.

Finally, I see an opening. In the far corner of the room there is an exit door. Of course, I have no idea where this door leads, but I don't contemplate that little factoid much. All I care about is escaping, if only for five minutes. After all, it'll be a miracle if we can be gone ten minutes without someone noticing. Still, that's ten minutes of reprieve, and I'll take it.

"Far corner of the room," I whisper before Peeta gives me another kiss.

When we pull away, he gives me a smile before taking my hand and slowly leading us toward the door. We have to navigate our escape route delicately because it's not as though we can just make a beeline for the exit door. People would notice. So we weave through the room, taking far too long for my liking to even _reach_ the far corner of the room. There aren't many people over here since all the alcohol and food is up front. When the coast is clear, Peeta and I dart through the door and quickly shut it behind us.

Both of us lean against the door and exhale loudly in relief. I look up at him with a grin, "You hear that?" I ask.

Peeta frowns. "No."

"Exactly."

Peeta chuckles as he quickly catches on to my little joke. He wraps his arms around me and I drape my arms over his shoulders, my fingers playing idly with the hair at the nape of his neck as I rest my head against his chest. "I was afraid I was going to punch someone," I say breaking the silence that had settled.

"You were going to punch someone?" Peeta buries his face in my hair, his arms tightening around me. "Some of those guys are lucky to still be walking."

I can't help but smile. It's always funny when Peeta threatens people, mainly because he's such a good person you can't imagine him being violent. Of course, I know differently. All I have to do is remember watching the recap of the Games, watching his fights at the Cornucopia and with Cato.

"I mean, I get that you're beautiful," he continues. "And I understand appreciating beauty. As long as it's from afar. Very far. And _not_ looking at you like you're something to eat."

"It's pretty unnerving," I admit. "Of course, if one more girl looks like she's about to drag you out of here to have her way with you, heads are going to roll."

Peeta chuckles. "I'm glad I can count on you to protect me."

"You better be," I say lightly. We're silent for another moment before I whisper, "I want to go home, Peeta."

"We'll be there soon enough," Peeta replies softly, placing a feather-soft kiss on my temple.

Both of us freeze when we hear voices. I immediately take a step away from Peeta and examine my surroundings quickly. We're in some sort of hallway, a plush carpet beneath our feet and large, ornately framed pictures line the walls. The voices are getting louder, and I glance at Peeta, panicking. It sounds like they're right around the corner.

Peeta glances around, and I see the narrow door at the same time he does. Peeta has just quietly shut the door behind us when I hear footsteps coming closer and closer. I can hear the voices clearly because they're standing right on the other side of the door. I have a brief flashback of me and Peeta in the sleeping bag up in the willow tree while the Careers talk right beneath us.

I can't see Peeta in the dark, but it doesn't matter. We must be in some small closet because I'm pressed right up against him, my hands resting on his chest, and for once the feel of his taut muscles beneath my hands doesn't stir any reaction within me.

I'm too focused on what the two Capitol men are discussing.

"It's trouble," one man says. "If things are already this way in 8, it's a sure thing that other districts will follow."

"It was only a riot," the other replies. "Just a couple people throwing bricks at Peacekeepers."

"A couple people? There were hundreds of factory workers in that square. There's talk about a strike. And you know how uneasy things are in 3 and 4. All it takes is for one district to rebel and the others will follow."

"The president will have it under control. You know how he'll fix this. It's simple."

"What? Killing Everdeen and Mellark?" Peeta and I are statues. "I don't think that would do much good. They're too involved in the entire thing. Kill them and the uprising districts will just see it as a sacrifice and give them more reason to fight back."

My head is spinning with this new information. There was an uprising in District 8? They're anticipating similar actions in Districts 3 and 4? And what's this about Peeta and I? It's not like either of us weren't expecting Snow to come after us, but it's one thing to think it. It's another to know it. To hear the words said by people on the inside.

"It would be better if we could get them to show their allegiance to the Capitol," one of the men says. I can't even keep them straight in my mind. They're voices are just blurring together. "Propos. Get Mellark to say something. The kid can talk."

My hands fist in Peeta's shirt, as if he's going to vanish or be taken from me any second.

"Everdeen would be better," the other one argues. "She started this whole mess. She has the symbol."

I know what they mean. My mockingjay pin seems to have become a new fashion staple because I've seen it everywhere tonight. Belt buckles. Tattoos. Jewelry. Embroidered into silk lapels. My symbol is everywhere, and I can't help but wonder how greatly it infuriates President Snow.

Well, at least I know how much trouble it's causing.

"We shouldn't even be talking about this here," one says. "Let's get back to the party."

"Oh yes, I'm dying to have some of that chowder from 4."

And just like that they leave.

I don't know how long Peeta and I stay squished together in the closet, but eventually I open the door and peek out. Seeing the coast is clear, I step out and Peeta follows me. We lock eyes, and I can tell that neither of us knows exactly what to say, but whatever it is we can't say anything here.

"Home," Peeta says and I nod. Yes. We'll definitely be talking about this at home. Probably with Haymitch.

"Let's go," I say. "Get this over with."

However, I pause when I see the state of his shirt. It's wrinkled and scrunched up from where I've fisted my hands in it, and I take a moment to try and smooth it out. Once I've done the best I can, Peeta and I cautiously step back into the party, and luck is for once on our side because no one is even within twenty feet of the door.

It takes a while, but eventually we manage to work our way back into the crowd. At first there's a deluge of people wanting to speak with us, like the ten minutes we were gone and unable to be found only increased their desire to talk to us. Peeta, bless him, does most of the talking as usual, and you can't tell that we just overheard a conversation about conspiracy and rebellion. Oh, and people casually talking about our deaths. That's always great to hear.

We make it back up to the food where my prep team spots us and stumble drunkenly toward us. "Why aren't you eating?" Octavia asks, a big, drunken smile on her face. "It's a feast! You must eat at a feast!"

"Oh, I can't eat another bite," I say, shaking my head, and Venia tuts disapprovingly.

"Nonsense, Katniss!" Flavius drags us over to a table that is laden with flutes filled with a clear liquid. "Drink this!"

Peeta picks up a glass to take a sip, and Venia exclaims, "No, not here!" she says. "In there!" She points to the doors leading to the toilets. "Otherwise you'll get it all over the floor!"

"You mean this will make me puke?" Peeta asks with a frown, staring at it warily as he puts two and two together.

My prep team giggles, nodding in reply. "How else could you have fun at a feast?" Flavius asks with a laugh.

"I've already been twice already!" Octavia adds as if this is funny, when in fact to someone from the Seam, or just District 12 in general, this isn't funny at all.

Peeta, thinking the same thing I am, puts the glass back on the table with such precision you'd have thought it was going to explode. "Come on, Katniss," he says as he takes my hand. "Let's dance."

He leads me out onto the dance floor that takes up the middle of the room and immediately pulls me into his arms. I lay my head on his shoulder and sigh as we begin to move. It's not like we're really dancing. We're simply turning in a small, slow circle, and that is definitely okay with me. Effie taught us some of the more common dances here in the Capitol, but I don't feel like suffering through them at the moment. It would be inevitable that I'd miss a step because my mind would not be focused on the dance.

I know that Peeta is thinking along the same lines when he whispers, "You go along, thinking you can deal with it, thinking that they're not so bad, and then you hear them say something like that."

In my mind, all I see are the malnourished, emaciated bodies of children in District 12. Their equally skinny families bringing them to my mother, only having her prescribe the remedy that they already knew they needed. More food. It's only been the past few months where my mother could really do anything about these cases, sending the family home with some food and maybe even a few coins. But in the past, before the Games, all she could do was turn them away. The children were usually past saving anyway. This is what happens at home, in District 12, were food is precious and not to be wasted, where every bite is cherished.

And here in the Capitol, people are purposely vomiting just so they can fill their stomachs again and again. They have no thought that all of this food could do wonders in a place like 12. That all this food could probably feed more than half the district. They just eat because they can. They take measures to allow themselves to eat more and more. It disgusts me.

"Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment," I remind him quietly. "Really, this is nothing by comparison."

"I know," Peeta sighs. "I know that. It's just sometimes I can't stand it anymore. And with everything that's happening . . . I don't know what I'll do."

I give him a look of warning. I know what he's thinking about, remembering the conversation that we overheard between the two Capitol men. "Home," I remind him, and he nods before holding me tighter.

We dance until Portia approaches us, a large man with her that looks familiar to me, though I can't quite place him. She introduces him as Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker. I force myself not to look at Peeta, because we both know why he got a promotion. Seneca Crane, the last Head Gamemaker, was killed by President Snow because he allowed both Peeta and I to win the Games.

I wonder if Plutarch Heavensbee even gave this fact a thought when he assumed his new title.

I'm drawn from my inner wonderings when Plutarch turns to Peeta, "Would you mind if I shared a dance with your lovely fiancée? I promise I'll return her safe and sound."

Peeta smiles, but I bet I'm the only one who can tell how forced it is. "Ask Katniss."

Plutarch turns his blindingly white smile to me, and while I inwardly cringe, I force myself to smile. "I'd love to," I lie, and Plutarch takes my hand.

But before we're too far away, I hear Peeta call, "Don't get too attached, Plutarch," he threatens with a smile, causing Plutarch to laugh and assure Peeta that he won't.

I wonder if he realizes how serious Peeta actually is . . . probably not.

I'm drawn from my thoughts when I feel Plutarch rest his hand on my waist as we begin to dance. I force myself to smile and not think about how he's touching me. As I've said before, I do not like being touched. And I rate Gamemakers somewhere around maggots in terms of wanting their hands touching my skin. However, the new Head Gamemaker seems to sense this and keeps me at arm's length.

We make small talk, a task that I find tremendously troublesome unless I'm talking with Peeta or Prim. We discuss the party, the entertainment, the engagement, the food, but when he makes a joke about avoiding the punch, I suddenly remember how I recognized him.

During my private session with the Gamemakers, a fifteen minute period where each tribute shows off their skills to be rated on a scale from one to twelve, I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers because they were more interested in their roast pig than a girl fighting for her life. Of course, I didn't literally shoot at them. I hit exactly what I'd aimed for. That damn apple in the roast pig's mouth.

Naturally, my action caused all the Gamemakers to jump and exclaim. And one, that I now know to be Plutarch Heavensbee, fell backward into the punch bowl.

I still can't help but laugh. "Oh! So you were the one who—"

"Yes," Plutarch sighs good-naturedly. "And you'll be pleased to know that I've never recovered."

"So you're the new Head Gamemaker?" I say. "It must be an honor."

"Between you and me, there weren't many takers for the job," Plutarch replies and I resist snorting derisively. Of course there weren't many vying for the job. Considering that the last guy who had the job was executed. But that's not the reason Plutarch has for there being so few takers. "So much responsibility as to how the Games turn out."

I figure that as long as I have him talking, I might as well find out as much as I can about the upcoming Games. After all, I'll be mentoring. "Are you planning the Quarter Quell Games already?"

"Oh, yes," he replies quickly. "We've been getting ready for years actually. Arena's aren't built in a day, you know." Plutarch chuckles. "But the, shall we say, flavor of the Games is being determined now. Believe it or not, I've got a strategy meeting tonight."

He takes a step back from me and retrieves a gold pocket watch from his vest. He flips it open and sees the time, "I'll have to be going soon," he frowns. He angles the watch face toward me so that I can see the time. "It starts at midnight."

Midnight? Odd. "That seems late—" I begin before my sharp eyes focus on the watch face. Plutarch has run his thumb over the glass face of the watch and for a second I see my mockingjay, gold and glowing.

It disappears as quickly as it appeared, and Plutarch snaps the watch shut and returns it to his vest pocket. "That's very pretty," I say, trying to keep my voice even.

"It's one of a kind," Plutarch replies before adding, "If anyone asks about me, say I've gone to bed. The meetings are supposed to be kept secret, but I thought it'd be safe to tell you."

"Of course," I say immediately, with a small smile. "Your secret's safe with me."

Plutarch shakes my hand, gives me a small bow, and then leaves the dance floor. My eyes are already searching for Peeta, and I quickly spot him over by the cakes. As I make my way to him, I try to dodge Capitol citizens that obviously want to talk to me, but I fail in my intentions twice, having to smile and pretend that I don't despise them as they babble about how excited they are for me and how Peeta and I are perfect for each other and how they just can't wait until the wedding. These questions, however grueling, are nothing compared to what I'm asked by a woman with sky blue skin and matching blue eyes. She asks, in a very excited, high-pitched tone, when Peeta and I are going to start a family.

The question causes me to freeze, and it takes me a moment before I'm able to overcome my rapid heart rate and fight back the dizzy feeling in my head before I'm able to answer her. Miraculously, I manage a smile and say, "I think that's a while down the road. Excuse me."

I make a beeline for Peeta, walking as fast as I can without drawing unwanted attention. I immediately take his hand, and I can tell that Peeta realizes something is wrong because he wraps up his conversation with some bakers from other districts and turns to me.

"What's wrong?" he asks softly.

"Someone asked about when we were going to have kids," I answer, my voice a strained whisper.

It's always been my biggest fear, bringing an innocent child into this terrible world. I refuse to put myself through the pain of watching my children go through the reaping, praying that their name isn't called. And now that I'm a victor, now that Peeta is a victor, any child we have is going into the Games. There's no avoiding it. Victor's children always have an increased risk of being chosen. And a child of two victors? Well, that's just too good a chance to pass up for the Capitol.

Peeta knows this fear and shares it with me. After all, it's actually only been a little over a week since we last discussed it. "Forget about it," he says before giving me a soft kiss. There's really nothing more he can say. "Come on." He wraps an arm around my waist and steers us toward Effie, who appears to be searching the crowd for us. "I think we're about to bust out of here."

He's right. When Effie spots us, she hurries over and begins to lead us around the room so we can say goodbye and thank very important people. This process manages to last an entire grueling hour, but finally we're out of President Snow's mansion and on the train, pulling out of the station at precisely one o' clock, just as Effie had scheduled.

I wonder how we'd get anywhere on time without Effie Trinket.

Peeta and I make sure that a nearly-passed-out-drunk Haymitch is deposited in his room, before we go straight to Peeta's room, not even bothering to be surreptitious about it. We're both quiet as we undress. Peeta, as usual, tosses his clothes in whatever direction he's facing. His tie ends up in the far corner of the room. His suit jacket lands on a chair. His shirt quickly follows. Normally, this would amuse me, but not tonight. Peeta helps me out of my dress without saying a word, though his fingers do linger on my bare back.

I grab a shirt from his dresser and pull it on over my head, and when I turn to the bed Peeta is already under the covers, though his head is turned toward me, waiting. I climb in beside him, and he immediately pulls me into his arms. Our lips meet and we kiss in a slow, languid way that comforts me more than words would in this moment. Even though I'm beyond tired, my mind is racing. So many things happened tonight that Peeta and I need to discuss. The conversation we overheard about the uprisings being one of the most important.

And yet, what troubles me even more is the vanishing mockingjay on the crystal face of Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee's pocket watch.

* * *

**So, they you have it! Another chapter down, only . . . 24 more to go!**

**I really have to thank you guys again for being so awesome with reviewing. Honestly, I can't believe we're already over 600! That's insane in the best way possible. I owe you guys, but the only way I can think to repay you is to keep posting. So . . . a new chapter will be up Friday!**

**It's been a long time since I gave you guys a Mockingjay update, and so I will now proceed to do so. I've finally fully settled into college and my dorm room is now an acceptable writing cave. So, I wrote two chapters the other day, chapters 10 & 11. And something wonderful happened . . . PK were reunited! I almost cried. One of my favorite scenes I've written to date. So, word count is already at 70,000 words! I don't quite know how many chapters it will turn out being, though I'm guessing it will be around 20 or 22. So things are going great for Mockingjay! For me at least. Things kind of suck for PK at the moment, particuarly Peeta . . . and oh, the dark ideas I have for him. So sad. Poor Katniss. She's going to have a lot to deal with . . . **

**And, the quote from the next chapter is from a very special character, dear to all of us . . . Rye!**

**"Well, hey there, sweetcheeks!"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	12. Chapter 12

******************A/N: Guys, I can't tell you enough how awesome you are. I cannot believe I have so many reviews! Seriously my ego keeps going up and up and up and up and . . . yeah, I think you get the point. :)**

******************So I gave you another humorous saucy scene this chapter, as a 'THANK YOU' to all of you. And if you're wondering, the really seriously hot SS is coming later in the story. I think it's somewhere in the 20s.**

******************Wow, I really don't have that much to say today. Weird. I always have something to ramble about.**

******************Oh, well. How about the movie quote of the day? Yes? Today's quote comes from _Vampires Suck_.**

******************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"

* * *

Chapter 12

I hardly notice my prep team working on me, getting me ready for District 12's Harvest Festival, our district's celebration for the Victory Tour. Peeta and I have barely had a moment together since we arrived back. The moment we stepped off the train, we were ushered to the Mayor's house, not even getting a chance to see our families.

I'm grateful though, that we're being prepped at the Mayor's house rather than in the Justice Building. Too many bad memories reside in that place for me. Receiving a Medal of Valor for my father when he died. Saying goodbye to my family after the reaping. No good memories of that building.

But these thoughts are trivial compared to what's swirling around in my mind and has been since I overheard the information. The uprising in District 8. It's all that I can think about. I try and think back to remember all that Peeta and I overheard by the two Capitol men. They had said that there were hundreds of factory workers in the square. District 8 made textiles. The men had also said that the workers were threatening a strike.

And then there was what they said about Districts 3 and 4. They were worried that they would follow District 8's example. Could this really be happening? Could, dare I think it, a rebellion be starting? If one district could rebel . . . and then another . . . and then another. Then we'd have a full scale war on our hands.

I can't deny the elation that I feel at this idea. The injustice of the Capitol has gone on for far too long. I despise their control over me, how they are dictating my life. How they will continue to influence my life and my decisions as long as Snow and the Capitol regime is in power. And my anger at the Capitol doesn't completely stem from my own selfish reasons. I'm tired of seeing starving children in the streets while the Capitol eats so much they make themselves vomit just so they can relish the pleasure of eating again. I'm sick of money being so scarce in 12, while coins are tossed about the Capitol like they're worthless. I'm simply fed up with the Capitol having everything and giving nothing, leaving the districts and the rest of Panem to slave away for them, just so they can continue to live in luxury.

It's time that it stopped.

But just as I can't deny that the idea of rebelling elates me, I can't ignore that it also scares me. It's one thing to think about these things, but putting them into action? Would District 12 even want to rebel? Would they have the courage to start an uprising? Peeta. They would listen to Peeta, wouldn't they? He could convince them that it's the right thing to do . . .

I curse myself as I realize what I'm doing; contriving a use for Peeta, using his talents for my own gain, exactly like the two Capitol men we'd overheard had wanted to do. Use him for propos; make him talk of how he supports the Capitol. I'm basically doing the same thing, except for my own cause. Despicable.

"Okay," Venia chirps happily. "All done. I'll go get Cinna."

My prep team flounces out the door and not a minute later, Cinna comes in carrying the ever-present garment bag over his arm. "What do you got for me this time?" I ask.

Cinna smiles. "You should know," he teases. "After all, you designed this one."

"Did I?" I find myself smiling with him, enjoying our joke. "Well let's see my masterpiece."

And what a glorious masterpiece it is. This dress is by far the sleekest looking of all that I've ever worn. Sliver and shimmering, it hangs from my shoulders by thin straps, the neckline of the dress scooping down to show a hint of cleavage that I didn't know I had. The body of the dress flows down to my feet, clinging to me in all the right places, enhancing my curves.

"Oh, I'm good," I breathe and Cinna chuckles.

"You do look stunning," he compliments as we both look at my reflection in the floor length mirror. Complementing my silver dress are matching silver heels. My makeup is light, though my cheeks hold a rosy glow, my lips shimmer with a pink lipstick. Flavius went to work on my hair, curling it in soft waves that he let fall over my shoulders.

I wonder how Peeta will like it.

"You're brilliant, Cinna," I tell him sincerely, for seems like the millionth time. He just keeps surprising me with his fashion genius.

Cinna smiles, accepting my praise with a gracious nod. "Let's get to the Festival, shall we?"

"I'll meet you there in a minute," I say. "Go on without me. I want to see if I can get Peeta alone."

Cinna actually smirks at me, and I blush. "Not like that!"

"Sure, girl on fire," he says lightly as he leaves. "Sure."

Oh, how I love my stylist.

Nonetheless, after I'm sure my blush has faded, I walk out of the room and into the hallway. I head down the hallway to my right, knowing that I heard Peeta's prep team yammering down this way. I see a broad-shouldered blonde turning the corner and I hurry to catch up with him.

"Peeta," I say, but now that I'm closer I realize that this is not the Mellark I am looking for.

"Well, hey there, sweetcheeks," Rye grins at me. "Looking for the kid?"

I scowl. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?"

"What?" Rye questions. "Sweetcheeks? Sorry, no can do. It just suits you so well. All that blushing you do."

I blush. He laughs.

But when I examine him closer and see his red nose, I'm the one who's laughing. "What?" Rye asks. "I haven't even cracked a joke yet. Though don't think I'm not thrilled that you feel at ease in my comedic presence."

"Peeta found time to punch you," I explain. "You might even get a black eye."

Rye frowns. "You don't think so, do you?" he asks. "It'll ruin my act. Then people will actually be laughing at me and not with me."

"Rye, people are always laughing at you," I tell him. "Besides, if you hadn't kissed me, you could have avoided Peeta's fist."

At the reminder, Rye touches his nose with a wince. "You know, I don't remember him punching so hard." He sniffs. "What did you tell him? That I gave you the kiss of a lifetime?"

"I told him that I punched you in the nose," I reply smartly. "He laughed."

"Ah well, at least I made him laugh from afar," Rye shrugs, an easy smile on his face. "Kudos for me."

"And then he promptly declared that you were getting punched the moment we got back," I say with a smile. "He succeeded."

"Yeah, don't remind me," Rye twitches his nose a bit, like a rabbit would, and I can't help but laugh. "And score one for Mellark!" he says in triumph. "Figures you'd be the one to laugh at my pain."

"I wasn't laughing at your pain," I argue lightly. "I was just laughing at you."

"You wound me," Rye sighs dramatically. "Hey, you want to hear a joke?"

I roll my eyes as I move past him, resuming my search for Peeta. I'm not surprised when Rye follows. He can never let a joke go untold. "It's a knock-knock joke. I love knock-knock jokes. Knock-knock jokes are my favorite," he says earnestly.

"Fine," I relent. "Tell me the joke."

Rye grins. "Knock knock!"

"Who's there?" I ask dully.

"No one, you're insane!" Rye laughs, elbowing me in the side. "That's a good one, right?"

"I've heard worse." I spin around to see Peeta dressed in a simple black tux. He's smirking at Rye. "Strangely enough, they all came from you."

I laugh as I step toward Peeta and he pulls me to his side, his arm automatically wrapping around my waist. "Aw, aren't you two just cute," Rye teases.

"Don't you have someone else to annoy?" Peeta asks as together, the three of us begin to walk down the hallway the way we came, heading toward the Festival in the town square.

"It's like you don't want to see me, babe." Rye holds a hand over his heart. "I'm hurt."

"Babe?" I question, looking up at Peeta who's blushing, shaking his head in shame.

"Oh, it's my nickname for him," Rye says, enjoying Peeta's humiliation like I assume all older brothers do. "Cause, you know, he's the baby of the bunch. The little one."

"I'm bigger than you," Peeta retorts.

"Details, details," Rye waves him off and I can't help but smile at the interaction between the two of them. "You see, sweetcheeks, I used to actually call him 'baby bro' which was then shortened to 'baby,' but he put up a fuss, so I had to change it to something just a tad more masculine."

I look up at Peeta. "I'll never call you babe."

"Thanks for that."

"It's not like he doesn't have an equally embarrassing nickname for me," Rye shrugs. "He calls me 'pookie.'"

I can't help it. I snort. "You're kidding."

Peeta's grinning now. "There's funny story behind that nickname."

"He wasn't even creative enough to come up with it on his own," Rye says as he holds open the front door of the mayor's house for us before shutting it and quickly jogging to catch up with us. "He stole it."

I look up at Peeta for an explanation. "We were twelve," he begins before amending, "Well, I was twelve. Rye was fourteen and had his first girlfriend. Their epic romance lasted a whole two days."

"Why?" I ask.

Peeta chuckles. "He broke up with her because she called him 'pookie.'"

"Hence the reason why he still calls me 'pookie,'" Rye laughs good-naturedly.

"Does Chris have a nickname?" I ask with a smile.

Both Peeta and Rye laugh before Rye explains. "Oh, yeah. We call him 'sugar bear.'"

I frown. "Seriously?"

Peeta grins. "Well, see, originally, Chris didn't have a nickname."

"But then he got married," Rye says gleefully. "And you know what that means."

"No."

Rye looks at Peeta. "You've got to teach her these things."

"I'm working on it."

"What?" I snap, annoyed that they're talking over me.

Peeta hugs me closer in apology, before saying, "Typically, when you get married, some pet names are usually thrown around."

"Like 'baby,'" Rye elaborates. "Sweetheart, babygirl, or, my personal favorite, wifey."

I look up at Peeta. "You call me any of those, and I _will_ kill you."

"Yeah, because I was totally thinking of calling you 'wifey,'" Peeta says with a grin. "You're Katniss. Always will be."

"Aw, isn't he just sweet?" Rye teases before looking at me. "Anyway, back to the story. Spouses give each other pet names. And well, Madeline, that's Chris's wife, calls him 'sugar bear.'"

"And so you tease him," I deduce and both Peeta and Rye laugh.

"All the time."

"It's fun."

"You two are ridiculous," I declare and they both look at me, offended.

"No we're not," Rye scoffs. "Please."

"It's just a thing," Peeta defends. "It's a . . . brotherly thing."

By this time, we've reached the square and Rye sighs dramatically. "Alas, I must leave you. There must be something around here that I can screw up," he says before looking at me seriously. "Is there any possible way you could bring me two live squirrels?"

"Why?" I ask suspiciously and Rye gets this all too innocent look on his face.

"No reason."

"Will you just go already?" Peeta asks, shoving Rye's shoulder.

Rye waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, you two aren't thinking about ditching early, are you? Naughty, naughty . . ."

Peeta glares at him. "None of your business, Rye."

Rye is oblivious, still grinning. "You two have fun. Be safe."

And with that, Rye Mellark turns on his heel and immediately goes up to a group of girls. Within seconds, he has them laughing. I can't help but sigh. "You know, once you get past his idiocy, he's actually kind of sweet."

Peeta chuckles. "He's a good guy," he agrees. "Just too much of a kid sometimes."

"You sound like the older brother," I say and Peeta sighs.

"I feel like the older brother." He shakes his head. "I'm the one that keeps him out of trouble."

"Speaking of trouble," I say, my mind turning back to my thoughts earlier in the evening. About the uprisings and what we learned in the Capitol. I still haven't told Peeta about the glowing, vanishing mockingjay on Plutarch Heavensbee's pocket watch. "What do you say we find Haymitch before he's passed out drunk?"

Peeta's eyes narrow as he catches my subtext. "You sure?" he asks, casting a questioning glance to the Capitol people around us who are providing the food for the Harvest Festival.

"He's probably in a quiet place," I say. "We should find him."

"Alright," he agrees as his eyes scan the crowd for our mentor. "Well, what do you know? He's by the alcohol."

"Shocker," I deadpan, causing us both to smile before we begin to make our way toward Haymitch.

When we reach Haymitch he's still relatively sober, which is lucky for us. He sees us coming and scowls, like he can't stand the sight of us. "What do you want?" he asks.

"To talk," I say lightly. "About stuff."

"Stuff?" Haymitch questions. "What kind of stuff?"

"Stuff," I repeat and Haymitch grunts as he hauls himself to his feet, keeping his omnipresent flask in his hand.

"Well then let's mosey on over that way," he says sarcastically, but at this point, I take no offense. It's just Haymitch being Haymitch.

We end up gathering around under the stage. It's extra cool in the shade and I shiver slightly, prompting Peeta to give me his jacket. It completely dwarfs me and the sleeves are way too long, but I don't mind. It's warm and it smells like Peeta. It's perfect.

"What?" Haymitch snaps once I'm settled in Peeta's jacket. "What's so damn important?"

"There was an uprising in District 8," I whisper, glancing up at Peeta. "We overheard two Capitol men talking about it at the party last night."

Haymitch's eyes narrow. "Tell me everything."

And so I do. Peeta and I take turns telling all that we heard. The uprising in 8. The threat of a strike. The possibility that 3 and 4 will follow District 8's example. And then I get to the part that worries me the most. "And they were talking about using Peeta," I say. "For propos and things."

I only see it for a second, maybe even less, but I'm positive that Haymitch looks worried. He glances at Peeta. "Makes sense," he says gruffly. "You got a way with words, kid. They'd want to use that."

"They talked about doing the same thing with Katniss," Peeta deflects, not focusing on himself as usual. "It's her mockingjay that's everywhere."

"Oh," I interrupt. "And that's another thing." I look up at Peeta. "You know how I danced with Plutarch Heavensbee? The new Head Gamemaker?" Peeta nods and I continue, glancing at Haymitch. "Well, we were talking and he said that he had to leave for a meeting, planning the Games. He pulled out his pocket watch and showed it to me, saying that the meeting started at midnight. I thought it was an odd time for a meeting, but I didn't say anything because when I looked at the watch, there was a glowing, golden mockingjay on the face of the watch. Then I blinked, and it was gone."

Peeta frowns. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I confirm, looking at Haymitch. "It just seemed odd. He showed it to me like it was a secret."

Haymitch seems to debate this before shrugging. "Probably wants it to be a secret. Doesn't want anyone to steal his idea." I deflate a little bit at my mentor's theory. I don't know what I'd been hoping the vanishing mockingjay meant, but it wasn't the mere fact that it was one of a kind and he simply didn't want anyone stealing his idea. "I mean, that mockingjay was everywhere. It's some fashion staple. Don't read into it."

He looks between both Peeta and I. "That it?"

"Well, yeah," I say, feeling slightly awkward. "That's it."

"Okay," Haymitch sighs. "Don't get too excited about these uprisings. They've cropped up every now and then in the past and they always just fade away."

"But Snow's worried, Haymitch," Peeta says. "He wouldn't have come to visit us just for kicks. He's not the type to waste time worrying over nothing. Besides, you saw the people in the districts on the Tour. They're mad, Haymitch. Yeah, they might be scared too, but there's courage there. I think they want to fight."

"Hold your horses, kid," Haymitch snaps. He looks between us. "I want you two to forget about this stuff, alright? The only thing you're focusing on is your wedding, got it? And Katniss, you've got a photo shoot for the wedding next week, by the way."

I groan. "Why do you torture me with these things?"

"Because I'm your mentor," he retorts quickly. "Now get out of here. I need a drink."

"You always need a drink," I mutter, ignoring Haymitch's snappy reply. Peeta takes my hand and together we brave the throng of people.

The Harvest Festival is a piece of cake compared to the other parties on the Victory Tour. Since the food has been provided by the Capitol, everyone in 12 is just glad that they can fill their stomachs, and I'm grateful for that at least. No one throws questions at us left and right. There aren't over the top congratulations about our upcoming nuptials. And there is little to no drunken leering. As far as Capitol-organized gatherings go, the Harvest Festival is relatively okay.

Still, however simple the party is, by the time that I trek up the stairs to my room, I'm ready to fall into bed and stay there for the foreseeable future. I do get a surprise though, when I walk into my room and find my mother waiting for me. "Um, hi," I say, feeling awkward.

I'm still swathed in Peeta's tuxedo jacket. I've hitched my dress up in one hand, and my shoes are dangling from my other hand. No doubt I probably look just a little foolish. My mother isn't smiling though. "Sit down, Katniss."

I debate ignoring her and getting into the shower instead, but I sigh in acquiescence and take a seat beside her on the bed. After all, I am trying to mend our relationship. "So . . ." I say slowly. "What's so important?"

My mother looks at me, and I imagine that she would look stern if she were truly capable. "I want you to stop sleeping with Peeta."

I can't control it. I feel a blush spread from my chest to the roots of my hair. Is my mother seriously about to give me a sex talk? I do _not_ need this right now! But I do have to clarify one thing. "I'm not sleeping with him," I say and my mother looks at me dubiously. "I'm not!" I say defensively. "Well, I mean, I do, but I don't. We just sleep! We don't . . . I haven't . . ." I take a deep breath, getting to the crux of the matter. "I'm a virgin, mom. Peeta wants to wait until we're married."

Technically, I'm telling the truth. I haven't had sex. And Peeta _does_ want to wait until we're married. However, that doesn't mean that we haven't done other things. I never knew my hormones truly existed until I saw Peeta without a shirt . . .

My mother looks slightly chagrinned, but I know that she's going to stick to her point. "It's not proper, Katniss," she says, reminding me of Effie. "You should sleep in your own bed."

"What? And wake everyone up when I'm screaming my head off, trapped in a nightmare?" I ask, getting angry. "I need Peeta, mom. He makes the nightmares go away, and when I do actually have a nightmare, he's there to wake me up and hold me."

"I could do that," my mother says quietly. "I used to, you know. Hold you. When you were little."

"I'm not a little girl, anymore, mom," I say. "You don't understand. Peeta does, because he was _there_. And he has nightmares too, and they're always about losing me, and I have to be there when he wakes up so that he knows I'm still alive. I'm not leaving him."

My mother and I hold a staring contest. I refuse to bend to her rules, at least this one. There's no way I'm sleeping without Peeta. Not a chance in hell. My mother knows this, and so I'm not surprised when she looks away first, sighing in defeat. "I just want you to be careful," she says softly. "I know that I haven't been the mother you needed, and I'll never be able to tell you how sorry I am for that. But you have to know that I care. I just want what's best for you."

I smile a little. "Peeta is what's best for me."

My mother nods and gets to her feet. She pauses at the door and turns back to look at me. "You remind me more and more of your father every day," she says wistfully. "Always so sure."

And then she leaves, closing the door softly behind her. I can't help but wonder what my mother was like when she met my father. I imagine her to be a lot like Prim, though I know that Prim is much stronger than my mother. Both of us inherited our father's inner strength. But I imagine my mother to be like Prim in nature. Soft, kind, and sweet. Caring.

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. Shower. Sneak out. Peeta's bedroom. That is my three-step plan, and it takes me roughly fifteen minutes to complete. I towel dry my hair, not bothering to put it into a braid because I know that Peeta likes it down. I throw on a light pair of pants and a shirt, knowing that I probably won't be wearing them for long anyway, if the looks Peeta was giving me toward the end of the party were anything to go by. The thought makes my stomach clench in anticipation.

My feet traverse the floor silently as I tiptoe out of the house, Peeta's tuxedo jacket wrapped around me once more. Portia probably wants it back, after all. It's begun to snow lightly, the snowflakes clinging to my hair as I hurry across the street toward Peeta's house. I smile when I see wet paw prints on his front porch.

Maya.

I open the door and there she is, no doubt waiting for me. Before I greet her, I make sure to take off Peeta's jacket and hang it in the coat closet to my right. This done, my attention is all on my furry friend. "Hey, girl," I smile as I scratch her behind the ears and give her a good rub down. She licks my face and wags her tail. I swear she's smiling at me.

"She was sitting on the porch when I got home."

My eyes dart up to the landing on the stairs, where Peeta is leaning against the railing, his arms folded across his bare chest. I give Maya one more good scratch behind the ears before standing and making my way up the stairs, trailing my hand along the railing. Peeta's grinning at me and I grin back. Just as I reach the same stair he's on and he reaches out for me, I suddenly dart out of his hold and race up the rest of the stairs, a girlish giggle escaping me that I will only ever let Peeta hear.

My smile is threatening to split my face in two when I hear his loud steps chasing after me. I just manage to get through the door to his bedroom before a strong arm wraps around my waist, halting my progress. He spins me around to face him, and I brace my hands on his chest. "Gotcha," he grins before capturing my lips.

My hands immediately become entangled in his hair as he kisses me. I feel his large, warm hands sneak under my shirt and settle at my waist. A make a sound of surprise when he suddenly hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He begins to move toward the bed and we're still kissing when I feel my head hit the pillow. Finally, when I'm sure that my lungs are about to burst any second, I break the kiss with a gasp. I look up at Peeta, hovering over me, breathing just as hard as I am. There's a smile on his face as he looks at me.

"You know," he says as his lips find my neck. My eyes close of their own accord. "You truly looked beautiful tonight." He continues to kiss up my neck until he finds that one spot behind my ear that never fails to make me shiver. I feel him smiling against my skin. "And all night I was trying to figure out what I've done to deserve you."

I blush. Why must Peeta say these things? He knows that I'm not good with words, and now I feel compelled to say something equally romantic. "You loved me when no one else did," I say softly. "You've saved my life multiple times. But more importantly, you make me smile. You make me laugh. You make me happy." I kiss him. "It's me that doesn't deserve you."

Peeta shakes his head, a smile on his face. "And you say you're not good with words."

"You inspire me." I say simply before gliding my hands over his chest. "Now, shut up and kiss me, already."

"Well, I was getting there . . ."

"You were _already_ there."

"Seriously, I had a plan."

"Well, I'd love to see it sometime tonight."

"See? We do bicker."

My eyes narrow as I quickly flip us over so that I'm straddling his waist. I lean down until my face is just hovering above his, my hair falling in a curtain around us. "How many times do I have to tell you Peeta?" I tease as I slowly slide my hands along his chest, causing his eyes to close briefly. "We do not bicker. Bickering is a type of argument, in which case, would mean that I always win."

Peeta suddenly smirks, as one hand begins to glide along my thigh and the other tangles in my hair, bringing my face even closer to his. His lips are brushing mine as he says, "Well, if this is me losing an argument, then I don't see how it's such a bad thing."

And when he presses his lips to mine, my mind is blissfully blank.

* * *

**They're too cute sometimes. It's fun to write.**

**Quote for next chapter comes from (drum roll, please) . . . Peeta!**

**"You think I'm just trying to get laid?"**

**Could there be a Gale vs. Peeta episode next chapter? ;)**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Wow! Almost over 700 already! **

**This. Is. Awesome.**

**Nothing much to babble about today, so let's just skip to the movie quote for today! **

**"Snakes. I hate snakes." - _Indiana Jones_**

**********************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."

* * *

Chapter 13

When I wake up the next morning, I feel a warm body beside me. However, it's not the warm body that I'm used to. I turn my head to the left and immediately get licked in the face. "Maya?" I question groggily and she licks my face again.

My hand finds its way into her fur, and I lazily pet her as I wait for the sleepy haze to clear from my mind. Judging by the lack of light in the room, I know that dawn is still a couple hours away. I sit up, clutching the bed sheet to my chest as my eyes adjust to the darkness in the room. Where's Peeta?

It's not like it's uncommon for me to wake up without him. Sometimes he'll get up early to bake, and then other times he simply can't sleep and he'll go into his art studio. I smell nothing cooking from the kitchen, so that leaves me with only one other option as to where he is. My feet touch the cold hardwood floors, and the chill that hits my bare skin cause goosebumps to appear on my arms. I dress quickly, digging a pair of jeans and a thick blue sweater out of my drawer in Peeta's dresser.

As my brain begins to wake up, I'm catapulted into memories of the night before. Peeta and I have never come so close to having sex. If Peeta hadn't stopped when he did, I have no doubt that we would have kept going. I wanted to. A shadow of the excitement I felt last night courses through me, and I can't help but smile, even if a slight blush heats my cheeks.

But even though I really do want to be with Peeta, in every way possible, I can't deny that the idea terrifies me. It's a part of me that is still entirely mine. Something that I haven't shared with Peeta and that has made me feel more secure. Because I know that once I make love with Peeta there's no going back. He'll know all of me, body, mind, and soul. That thought is just a little scary.

Still, I've known that our time is coming for a while. Our kisses are more frantic. There is a tension hanging over us, both of us wanting more. Both of us want to be closer. Peeta's touches linger even more than usual. And I can't seem to keep my hands off him.

Not that either of us really mind.

We're on the precipice of that final step, and I'm both equally excited and terrified, an odd combination that causes my stomach to twist. I shake my head slightly as I run a brush through my hair. It takes longer than normal due to the fact that it wasn't in my braid last night, so there are more tangles that I have to brush through. And the fact that Peeta seems obsessed with running his fingers through my hair only adds to the amount of tangles.

I deftly twist my hair into its usual braid as I make my way down the hallway to Peeta's art studio, Maya following loyally behind me. "Peeta?" I knock on the door softly. "Peeta, you in there?"

No answer. It's entirely too quiet in the house, and a pit of unease settles within me. I descend the stairs and that's when I hear voices. Two voices that I never really expected to hear together. Peeta and Gale.

And judging by the ever increasing volume, they're arguing.

Oh, shit.

I cautiously tread through the house toward the sound of their raised voices and quickly conclude that they're in the backyard. My feet ghost over the kitchen floor until I'm right by the backdoor that leads out into the backyard. A long, vertical, rectangular window in the door allows me to see the two most important men in my life clearly.

Gale is pissed. I can tell by his posture. His shoulders are entirely too tense. His jaw is clinched, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Peeta, on the other hand, looks relatively relaxed. Though with Peeta, looks are always deceiving. His arms are crossed over his chest while he leans casually against the trunk of the maple tree in the middle of the yard. A picture of typical nonchalance, but I know him better. His expression is too stony. His eyes are narrowed, his lips pursed into a thin line.

Gale and Peeta aren't happy with each other.

"Why are you here, Gale?" Peeta asks.

Gale cuts right to the chase. "Is it for real?" he asks. "Are you really in love with her?"

"Yes." I can tell that Peeta's slightly confused. I am too. "I'm in love with Katniss. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Oh, I don't know," Gale says sarcastically. "Maybe because you're a merchant? You know, the merchant kids that just want to get a Seam girl into bed 'cause they're easy?"

I know that Gale's getting punched before he does. And when Peeta's fist comes into contact with Gale's jaw, I wince as Gale stumbles back a step or two. "You think that I'm just trying to get laid?" Peeta growls angrily, all appearances of nonchalance vanishing. "Are you out of your damn mind? I love Katniss. I'm going to marry her. If I just wanted to get in her pants, would I really go through all of this?"

Gale suddenly steps forward and punches Peeta in the face, causing Peeta's head to snap to the side. I can tell that Peeta wants nothing more than to tackle Gale to the ground and really start a fight, but a proud smile threatens to pull at my lips when he takes a small step back, restraining himself.

Gale seems confused, obviously expecting a fight. Peeta and Gale glower at each other for a long moment before Gale seems to deflate a little. "What am I supposed to think?" he asks, his voice mixed with anger and confusion. "Before the Games, Katniss didn't spare a thought for you, for anyone. She was fine without any love in her life, and then all of a sudden she's all over you? Talking about feelings and admitting that she's in love with you? She's really only known you since the Games. I've had years with her. Me. Not you."

"This is all about pride?" Peeta scowls. "Look, man, let it go."

"Would you?" Gale retorts quickly. "If she was with me, and not you. Would you just let her go?"

"Yes," Peeta answers truthfully and I don't doubt it. He's just that selfless. "If she was happy with you . . . yeah, I'd let her go. Of course, I'd still be waiting in the wings, waiting for her to dump your sorry ass."

Gale and Peeta actually share a smile. It's weird. Must be a 'guy thing.'

"You're her best friend, Hawthorne," Peeta says seriously. "She misses you."

Gale sighs. "I miss her, too," he admits. "The woods aren't the same without her. You think she'll forgive me?"

"Oh, yeah," Peeta replies before adding with a smile. "Of course, she'll give you hell first."

Gale chuckles. "I deserve it."

"Yeah, you do."

"Watch it, Mellark."

"You first."

For a moment I'm worried they might start swinging at each other again, but Peeta backs away. "I'm not fighting you, Gale. One, because I'm not that kind of guy. Two, because it would make Katniss unhappy, and that's on my list of things _not_ to do."

Gale sighs. "You know, you'd be easier to hate if you weren't such a good guy."

Peeta smirks. "I'm glad I have the Gale Hawthorne seal of approval."

"Now, I didn't say that," Gale corrects. "I just said you were a good guy."

"Thanks." Peeta rubs his arms, looking around pointedly at all the snow. "You think we could go inside? I'm freezing."

"Can if you want," Gale shrugs. "I'm about to head into the woods anyway."

"Yeah," Peeta replies blandly. I see him glance up and realize that he's looking at his bedroom window. "Katniss is probably going to be up soon."

Gale's eyes dart to Peeta. "She's here?"

"Every night," Peeta says truthfully, before reassuring Gale. "We just sleep. Chill out, man."

Oh, Peeta. No we don't. Have you forgotten last night?

Gale doesn't seem entirely convinced. "You really expect me to believe that?"

"It's not your business anyway," Peeta retorts, prompting a staring contest with Gale. It honestly goes on for so long that I'm worried they'll stand out in the snow forever.

Fed up with their secret conversation, and tired of eavesdropping, I bang on the door, startling both of them. They look at me, each of them wearing expressions in varied degrees of fear, and I can't help but smirk.

Peeta is the first one into the house, looking at me warily. Oh, yeah. He's wondering if he's in trouble. Gale, however, knows for sure that he's in trouble, and finds a point on the wall to stare at. "Gale, I'll meet you outside," I say, knowing that he knows I mean the woods.

He nods and walks by me. I wait until I hear the front door shut before I turn to Peeta.

He's already apologizing. "Katniss, I'm sorry. I woke up from a nightmare and was going to go paint, but there was a knock on the door and it was Gale. He guessed that I'd be up early. I have no idea why. And I'm sorry that we were talking about you and arguing about you like you're some object. I shouldn't have—"

I can't stand it anymore. My lips crash onto his, halting his hasty apology that was honestly so damn cute that I was proud I'd been able to restrain myself as long as I had. Peeta's lips are immediately moving with mine, and I know we're both thinking of last night and how close we came to crossing that line. However, I have to break the kiss when Peeta's hand sneaks underneath my sweater. I jump back, a small squeak escaping me.

"What?" Peeta asks confused.

"You're hands are freezing!" I complain and Peeta grins sheepishly.

"Sorry."

I step back into his arms and kiss him again. "You're apologizing quite a bit," I say when I pull away.

"How much of that did you hear?" Peeta asks curiously, though still cautious.

"Oh, just about all of it, I think."

"Damn."

"Peeta," I say with a wry smile. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. You were just defending me. Gale was being a jerk." My eyes narrow when I remember exactly what all Gale accused Peeta of, and I feel my ire rise. "Don't worry. I'll will, 'give him hell,' as you so rightly put it."

"I'm sorry for punching him," Peeta apologizes and I scoff.

"No you're not."

Peeta grins. "You're right. I'm not."

I can't help but laugh a little. "I better go," I say. "I'll probably be back late."

"I've got dinner with my family tonight," Peeta reminds me. "I might not be here."

Oh, right. "Are you sure you don't want me to go?"

We've had this discussion before, whether I should go with him to eat with his family. Peeta, though I know that he wants me to go, would never knowingly let me walk into the proverbial lion's den. Said lion's den being in the form of Mrs. Mellark. We have avoided each other whenever possible and we've each done a damn good job, considering that I've only seen her face twice since the Games. Once when I went into the bakery, she had been at the counter. The minute I walked in, she left to go into the back room. The second time I saw her was in the market. She actually took the time to glare at me during that brief encounter.

There's no telling what horrors would go down if both of us were trapped in the same room together. She'd no doubt trash my heritage and I would end up screaming at her for abusing Peeta. Luckily, since Peeta doesn't live with her anymore, he hasn't been hit once since the Games, but I still don't trust her. I hate her guts honestly.

Peeta knows this. And he knows that his mother feels the same way about me. This is why I never attend his family dinners. For me, it's easier just to avoid the whole mess. But still, I know that Peeta would love for me to go, if the circumstances were different, and that's why I always ask.

"Nah," he says, like I knew he would. "No need to put you through hell. It's bad enough already." I can only assume that even in my absence, his mother still insults me.

"Alright," I relent. I give him a lingering kiss, before turning to walk out the door, but Peeta pulls me back to him. His lips find mine and my knees actually feel weak when he deepens the kiss. As if sensing my weakness, Peeta's arms tighten around me. We kiss until we both give in to our need for oxygen.

We break apart and stare at each other for a moment. "Listen, Katniss, about last night . . ." Peeta begins, but I interrupt him.

"Soon," I say, preempting whatever he was about to say. Peeta's eyes study my face intently, knowing exactly what I mean. "I want you, Peeta," I admit in an embarrassed whisper, a blush spreading across my cheeks. "I do. I'm just scared."

"Me too," he admits. "But I'm ready when you are. I don't mind waiting. I mean, I don't want to push you into—"

"Peeta," I interupt with a small laugh. He doesn't know just how adorable he can be sometimes. "Let's just let things happen," I say. "We'll know when it's right."

"Yeah," Peeta agrees. "So . . . one more kiss before you go?"

I remember Gale waiting for me in the woods. "One more," I agree, giving him a quick kiss.

This time, when I turn around, Peeta doesn't pull me back. When I step outside, Maya following behind me, I take a deep breath of the fresh, clean air. Maya and I head toward the Seam, and I stop by my old house to grab my father's hunting jacket and my game bag. I don't know why I haven't taken them with me to the Victor's Village. Maybe because they are both my father's things and this was his house. Maybe I don't want to break that connection.

This stop only lasts thirty seconds at the most before we're headed toward the Meadow. Due to the snow, I make sure to cover both my footprints and Maya's paw prints. Even if everyone knows that I hunt, I'd rather not broadcast it so obviously. Also, due to the snow, I have to dig out a crawl space under my usual spot where I slip under the fence. I still get a face full of snow anyway. Maya quickly follows me and together we head through the forest. I grab my bow and quiver from my trusty hideaway log, and silently make my way to mine and Gale's spot.

He's there waiting for me, and when he notices Maya, he eyes her warily and she does the same to him. They haven't had too many encounters with each other. Mainly because Gale has been ignoring me and when we meet in the woods, we never talk and usually go in separate directions. Not anymore. That ends today.

"She's pretty," he admits. "But I can't help but wonder what her pelt would go for."

"Gale," I chastise, reaching down to pet Maya. "She's my friend. And a good hunting partner."

"Yeah." Gale looks down at his feet. "I suppose you'd need one after me being such an ass."

"You got that right," I say, not pulling any punches.

Gale nods. He expects nothing less from me. "I'm sorry, Katniss."

I raise my eyebrows. Is Gale really apologizing? I can count on one hand the times I've heard him say those two words. Gale sees my dubious look and huffs. "You heard me. Don't make me say it again. Once is hard enough."

"Yeah, well," I say lightly. "It's not like you insinuated that Peeta was only with me because he was trying to have sex with me. Or by insinuating that, made me sound like a slut for sleeping with him in the first place. No, I can't imagine why you would only apologize once."

Gale winces. "Mellark already punched me for that," he says, absently rubbing his jaw. "Don't tell him, but I think he knocked a tooth loose."

I smile. "If he hadn't punched you, I would have."

A grin threatens to turn up Gale's lips, but he manages to squash it. "Is this really what you want, Catnip?" he asks me seriously. "The wedding? All that stuff that you swore you'd never do?"

"I really do love him, Gale," I say softly. "He's worth it. I know that I said all of those things. About not having a relationship. Not getting married. But then Peeta came along and ruined everything," I can't help but add with a small smile. "You're still my best friend, Gale. You always will be. But I'm tired of avoiding each other. I want my best friend back."

"I'd love that," Gale admits, looking embarrassed for a split second. "Guess, I should probably apologize again, shouldn't I?"

"I think we're both sorry enough to avoid it." I let him off the hook. Sure, maybe I should give him a harder time. Maybe I should cuss him out seven ways from Sunday and leave him in the woods and never speak to him again. But wounded pride is something that someone like Gale can't just bounce back from. I think we've both punished ourselves enough.

Gale smiles at me, knowing that he's forgiven. "Come on," I say as I reposition my quiver on my shoulder. "We can bring in a good haul today, I bet."

And it's almost as though nothing ever happened between us. There's still a hint of awkwardness since our dynamic has changed. It's no longer just me and him. Peeta is in the equation now and we're both trying to figure out exactly where we stand, but I have no doubt that we'll figure it out. Gale spots a wild turkey and shoots it right through the eye. Maya scares a few rabbits out of hiding and I manage to get two of them before they hop out of range. Since it's winter, there aren't many greens to gather and neither of us feel up to making the trek to the lake for fish we'll have to break through the ice to get to.

We call it a day about an hour or so before dusk, and Maya trots in front of us as we make our way back to the fence. "Today was fun," Gale says. "You sure Mellark doesn't mind you spending so much quality time with me?"

I snort. "Peeta's not really the jealous type," I say. "He has no reason to be."

"I admit he surprised me during the Games." Gale seems to be remembering specific events. "You know, if he and the guy from District 2 had been on a more level playing field, I think Mellark might have been able to beat him."

I shiver at the thought of Peeta and Cato fighting. With weapons or just their fists, it's not something I want to imagine. Gale must sense my discomfort. "Sorry," he says and I can't help the slight twinge of my lips as I fight a smile.

"Second time you've apologized in one day," I comment. "That's a record."

"One that does not need repeating," Gale quips and I laugh. "Seriously, though. Mellark's a good guy, for a merchant anyway."

"But if he slips up once, you tell me and I'll beat his ass," he adds, with a little too much glee in his eyes at the idea.

"Don't hold out too much hope for that," I say. "Besides, I don't like the idea of you two fighting."

"I'd win," Gale shrugs as if it's the obvious answer.

I'm honestly not so sure, and I can't stop myself from wondering which one of them, Gale or Peeta, would win in a fight. Peeta has strength on his side, but Gale is probably quicker. Gale is more of a brawler, but Peeta actually has training . . . why am I thinking about this again?

"I don't know," I say, just to ruffle Gale's feathers. "Peeta's pretty strong."

"Of course you'll have to root for him." Gale says this as if it's no big deal. "But secretly, you know, you can be cheering me on."

I laugh. I think that maybe, just maybe, Gale and Peeta will tolerate each other, if only for my sake.

Gale looks at Maya. "You know, you were right," he says. "She's a good hunting partner. Did you train her?"

I nod. "She's smart. But don't bet on her listening to anything you say. She only really obeys me."

"Did you train her do to that to?" Gale teases, and I roll my eyes. "Figures."

All this camaraderie, the closeness that I've missed so much with Gale, causes me to want to tell him about the uprisings, about the threats facing Peeta and I from the Capitol, but I manage to hold my tongue. It's not Gale's concern and now that the threat from President Snow concerning Gale's life is really null and void, I don't have that to motivate me into spilling my guts. The uprisings. Mine and Peeta's failed mission to subdue the districts. The rebellion that seems to be simmering beneath the surface. All of this would give Gale too much incentive and he might do something impulsive and rash. I can't risk that.

We reach the fence and Maya crawls under first. I follow her and then Gale is beside me in the next few seconds. I motion to the rabbits in the bag, "I'll take these to Hazelle. Or do you want to trade for something at the Hob?"

"Give them to my mother," he says. "Tell her I'll be home in about twenty minutes or so. I've got to talk to Greasy Sae about some herbs for Posy. She was feeling a bit off this morning. And then I'm going to see what Cray will give me for the turkey."

I frown. "I can get my mother to send something for Posy," I say.

"It's not too bad, yet," Gale says. "If it gets serious, I'll take you up on that offer."

"Alright," I say. I know better than to argue with him. "I'll give the rabbits to Hazelle. See you later, Gale."

"See you later, Catnip," he replies with a small smile that I can't help but return before looking to Maya, sitting patiently at my side.

"Come on, girl." Together we make our way to Hazelle's and drop of the rabbits. I deliver Gale's message, and then stow my father's hunting jacket and my game bag back at my old house.

As I walk through town, a few people stop me to congratulate me on my engagement and I accept them with the gracious smile that Effie taught me. Maya trotting through town still makes people nervous, but I've gotten so used to it that I don't pay attention to it anymore.

I make it into the Victor's Village just in time to see Peeta stepping out of his house. Maya bounds off ahead of me to greet him, and he obligingly gets down on one knee so he can rub her belly. I can't help but laugh. In many ways, taking care of Maya when I got back from the Games was extremely therapeutic. On the rare nights when I didn't sneak over to Peeta's house, when I woke up, Maya was typically lying right beside me. And training and taking care of her gave me something to do, something to think about other than the Games. But in many ways she helped Peeta, too. I'll catch them together occasionally, early in the morning when Peeta will get up because he isn't able to sleep. They'll be out on the porch, Peeta with a cup of coffee, Maya with her head in his lap.

Peeta looks up when I come to stand next to him. He gives Maya a pat, before standing up, and pulling me toward him. "How was today?" he asks before giving me a brief kiss. "Hawthorne didn't screw up, did he? Do I have to hit him again?"

I laugh. "You know. Oddly enough, he offered to do the same thing if you screw up."

"Good man." Peeta nods approvingly. "I'd probably let him, too."

I can't help but shake my head. Men are strange creatures.

"You going into town?" I question as we start walking down the road.

"Yep," he says. "But you already knew that."

"Just making conversation," I defend myself. "I was going to walk with you into town, but if you're going to be smart with me . . ." I spin away from him and begin to walk away. I don't make it two steps before I feel his arm around my waist.

He pulls me back into his side, kissing my temple. "I'm sorry," he apologizes with a smile. "Will you, Katniss Everdeen, do me the honor of walking me into town?"

I debate for a moment. "Only because you asked so nicely."

Peeta grins and I can't help but smile. It still amazes me that I flirt. Only with Peeta, though. I have no idea how I manage it, either. Love makes people do crazy things, or so I've heard. For me? It actually makes me flirty and giggly. But I manage to keep these hideously girly acts strictly between Peeta and me. That is a side of myself that only he gets to see.

The road to the Victor's Village into town is seldom travelled, mainly because the only people who use it are us victors and since it's just me, Peeta, and Haymitch, we usually don't meet too many people on the road. This is why I deem it a safe place to talk.

"I've been thinking about the uprisings," I say, still keeping my voice down. "Do you think we could start one here?"

Peeta pulls me to a stop, looking at my face to see if I'm serious. "You're joking," he says, though I know he doesn't believe it. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" I ask and Peeta runs a hand through his hair. "Peeta, this is our chance! Do you really want the Capitol to dictate the rest of our lives? We've become their pawns, Peeta. It's all just a game."

Peeta sighs. "I know it is. And I can't say that I haven't thought about it, but the people in 12 won't rebel, Katniss. They're too scared. You've grown up disobeying the rules. It's not a big deal to you. You slip under the fence to hunt. You go to the Hob. How many people in town would even dare go near the Hob? Let alone slip under the fence?"

I frown. He has a point because the answer to his question is that very few, if any, people would do any of the things that I do so freely.

"An uprising takes more than a handful of people," Peeta says. "Besides, Haymitch told us to forget about it."

"You can't expect me to actually do what Haymitch says," I deadpan and Peeta smiles wryly.

"I don't think you'll ever do what _anyone_ says," he admits. "But that's only one of the many reasons I love you."

We resume walking into town, with no more talk about uprisings. It's relatively peaceful, just me and Peeta holding hands, Maya following alongside us. Suddenly, her ears perk up and it prompts me to listen to my surroundings, wondering what's caught her interest.

I frown as I hear a strange sound. Something cutting through the air. An impact. The intake of breath from a crowd. I look up at Peeta. "What is that?"

Peeta's eyes are narrowed. "Come on," he says, speeding up so that we're basically jogging.

We reach the square in a minute, and my eyes immediately focus on the crowd. They're obviously watching something, but there's so many people that I can't see what it is. Peeta hops up on top of a crate to get a better look. Suddenly, he says, "Katniss, go home."

"What?" I frown. "Why should I?"

"Just do it, okay? Please?" he asks, his voice more insistent than it's ever been. I begin to climb up on the box so that I can see whatever he's seeing, but he blocks my way. "Please, just go home. I'll meet you there, I promise!"

Something's not right. I jerk my hand from his, adrenaline coursing through me as I begin to push through the crowd. Adrenaline morphs into fear as people try to stop me, saying things like, "Go home, girl!" or "You'll only make it worse!"

I ignore them all. The only reason Peeta would be so insistent that I not see whatever is going on in the square is to protect me. But not something that will directly harm me. No, if it was that, Peeta would have never let me go. So this will hurt me indirectly?

All my worst imaginings could not have prepared me for what I see when I finally break through the crowd. My breath escapes me. Tied to a post by his hands, his shirt shredded in a bloody mess around him, his back looking like a raw slab of meat is Gale. Nailed above his head is the wild turkey he killed earlier today.

Standing behind Gale is a man I don't recognize, though the uniform he wears gives me a clue, even if it confuses me. He's wearing the uniform of the Head Peacekeeper, but this man is not Cray. This man is tall and muscular with cold eyes and I'd guess an equally cold heart.

I'm still wondering what is happening, when I see his arm raise the whip.

And then the pieces of the puzzle come together.

* * *

**Yep, Gale is still going to get whipped . . . but what might change?**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Mrs. Mellark!**

**"Get this trash out of my sight."**

**Yes . . . for those of you who wanted a Katniss vs. Mrs. Mellark . . . wish granted. ;)**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Wow! I'm continually blown away by you guys! Seriously? How did I get this many reviews so quickly? So, in other words: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK . . . yeah, I think you guys get the picture. :)**

**So glad that you guys were happy with the Peeta/Gale conflict, and espeically happy that you guys were happy about the progression of PK's relationship. This chapter is pretty long, even for me. Lots of stuff gets covered and I hope that you guys like what happens.**

**And I especially hope that you guys like the Katniss vs. Mrs. Mellark scene. It's my favorite scene in the entire story, aside from the very last scene in the very last chapter. And so, without further ado, here be the chapter.**

**Movie quote for the day is from _Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl._**

**"When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow." - Capt. Jack Sparrow**

**************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

* * *

Chapter 14

"No!"

Unthinkingly, I fling myself in front of Gale's prone form, spreading my arms wide so that I can protect as much of him as I can. My action, however, does not do anything to stop the whip from descending. I prepare myself to receive the full brunt of the lash, but instead all I see is a flash of white fur and then the distinct cry of a wounded animal.

Maya.

The wolf lies on the ground in front of me, an angry, bleeding line staining her dapple grey fur. She shakes her head before moving to stand on her feet, facing the Peacekeeper with the whip, and begins to growl viciously. Her hackles are up, and her jaws occasionally snap together as she slowly begins to advance on the Peacekeeper, who is looking at her warily.

He raises the whip again.

"Stop!" I say. My eyes cut to Maya. "Maya," I warn sharply. "Heel."

Maya stops her slow stalking forward, but her growling does not cease. She stands resolutely between Gale and I and the Peacekeeper. I take the time to examine his features more closely. He's as big as Cato, same muscular build. His eyes are cold and black. His mouth is a firm line. His nose is long and straight. You can just tell that his hair is grey because it's shaved so closely to his head. And right now he is glaring at me in contempt.

"Step away, girl," he demands in a rough voice, full of command that he obviously expects to be followed. I wonder where he's from. Which district? Maybe even the Capitol? It's clear from his accent that he's not from anywhere near here.

"No," I say firmly. "You'll kill him."

"And what business is it to you?" he snarls. "I'll chain you up right by him, girl, if you're not careful."

"That wouldn't be wise," Peeta says coldly as he comes to stand beside me. I haven't heard that tone since the arena. "And it's her business because he's her cousin. Which makes it _my_ business because she's my fiancée."

The Peacekeeper may not recognize me, my face free from makeup, my braid tucked haphazardly in my jacket, but I see a flash of realization when he gets a look at Peeta. Peeta is much more recognizable than I am. Of course, it's icing on the cake when Haymitch breaks through the crowd, stumbling over a prone body on the ground.

It's a red-haired Peacekeeper. Darius. And even from where I am, I can see the purplish knot on his head sticking out of his hair. Did he try and interfere? Did he try and help Gale?

"What the hell's going on?" Haymitch growls.

The Peacekeeper glares at me, but he can't keep his eyes from darting down to Maya, who has yet to cease her growling, and the menacing sound is only exacerbating the tension in the air. "She interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal," he says, though his voice is showing doubt. He can get away with not recognizing me, even Peeta, but there's no way that he doesn't recognize Haymitch.

"I don't care if she blew up the blasted Justice Building!" Haymitch snaps. "Now, do you really want me to make a phone call to the Capitol?"

We're the only ones who could ever pull this off. Me, Peeta, and Haymitch, standing up to the new Head Peacekeeper. Only because we're victors, because we hold just a little bit of power, if only in clout. That's not to say that there won't be repercussions from our actions, because I won't deny that there will be. However, that's not my main concern right now. Gale is my main concern.

The new Head Peacekeeper glances behind him to his fellow Peacekeepers and I'm relieved to see that I know them all. They've all traded with me and Gale for one thing or another. They're familiar faces, friends even, if you can really be friends with a Peacekeeper.

A small woman, Purnia, that I know eats regularly at Greasy Sae's steps forward. "I believe that for the first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed," she says. "Unless your sentence is death, which we could carry out by firing squad, sir."

"Is that the standard protocol here?" he asks sharply.

"Yes, sir," Purnia replies, and the Peacekeepers behind her nod in agreement, though I wonder if they even know what the protocol actually is. When a wild turkey typically comes into the Hob, everyone tends to start bidding for the drumsticks.

"Very well," the Head Peacekeeper relents reluctantly. "Get your cousin out of here, then, girl. And if he comes to, remind him that the next time he poaches off the Capitol's land, I'll assemble that firing squad personally."

I have no doubt that he will.

He wipes his hand along the length of the whip, spattering us with blood. It seems like he's about to leave before he stops and looks at Maya, who looks like she's practically trembling with the urge to attack him, her teeth still bared. "And shut that dog up before I shoot it," he says gruffly. He glances from me to Peeta to Haymitch. "I don't care whose it is."

And with that he leaves, the other Peacekeepers following him. Some of them linger behind to grab Darius by his arms and legs. He's still unconscious, but he's breathing as far as I can tell. Purnia is among those who stayed to help with Darius, and before she leaves, I catch her eye and mouth "Thanks." She doesn't acknowledge me, but I know she understands.

I turn to Gale, looking at his hands, his wrists bloodied from the rope being tied so tight. "Haymitch, your knife," I say, knowing that he always has it with him. My mentor quickly cuts Gale's binds and he falls to the ground, landing in a pool of his own blood, looking lifeless.

"Better get him to your mother," Haymitch says gruffly.

An old woman from the clothing stall sells us her board that she uses as a countertop, though she tells us, trepidation ringing in her voice, not to tell anyone where we got it. She quickly gathers her things and flees the square, and when I take a quick glance around, I notice that most everyone else has as well.

I notice a girl my age, Leevy, also from the Seam come up to me. "Do you need help?" she asks, determined. I remember how my mother kept her little sister alive last year, thwarting the measles.

"Yes," I say. "Go find Hazelle. Tell her what happened. But don't bring the kids."

Leevy nods. "I'll stay with them myself."

"Thanks," I say as I watch Leevy take off toward the Seam.

With the help of Peeta, Haymitch, and a few guys from Gale's shift in the mines, we're able to load Gale onto our makeshift stretcher and carry him to my house. Maya follows along beside me in the back, hobbling slightly. My eyes are drawn to the red lash that stretches from her shoulder to her bottom of her ribs. I'll have to take a look at it when I get the chance.

As we walk, I learn from bits of conversation from Gale's crew mates, Bristel and Thom, what happened. Gale had gone to Cray's house, just like he'd told me would, because Cray was known to pay good money for a wild turkey. Only, when Gale knocked on the door, the new Head Peacekeeper answered instead of Cray. Gale was immediately put under arrest and word spread quickly. By the time that they'd assembled in the square, Gale had been convicted of hunting illegally and sentenced to be whipped immediately. Bristel and Thom guess that Gale received maybe forty lashes, passing out around thirty.

"At around twenty, Darius stepped in," Thom says. "Saying that it was enough, but he didn't do it all official like Purnia. Thread just hit him in the head with the butt of his whip."

Romulus Thread. That was the name that had been tossed around for the Head Peacekeeper.

"He's lucky he didn't have his usual haul," Bristel says. "Otherwise it would have been a whole lot worse. Gale said that he'd found the turkey in the Seam, wondering around, and stabbed it with a stick. Didn't matter. Still illegal."

When we walk into the house, my mother takes a second to let everything sink in before going into that zone. The zone where everything seems to fade away from the world and all that exists is herself and her patient. Everything else is secondary. She quickly cleans off the dining table, covering it with a sterile, white cloth, and the men lay Gale's too-still body onto it. Meanwhile, she's ordering Prim to gather medicines from her stores, filling a basin of warm water as she does so, already beginning to dab and clean the serrated flesh of Gale's back.

"New Head," Haymitch explains and my mother nods, no more needing to be said.

I'm thinking that her actions are far to practiced and fluid for this situation to be new to her, when Haymitch says, "Whippings were more a whole lot more common before Cray. We always took them to your mother." I think he's trying to comfort me.

I merely nod, unable to draw my eyes away from Gale's mutilated back. This could have so easily been me. What if I had taken the turkey and Gale the rabbits? It would have been me being whipped. It would have been me lying on the table.

Bristel and Thom leave, but not before I see Haymitch slipping a few coins into their hands. "Don't know what will happen in the mines," he says by way of explanation and Gale's crew mates nod and pocket the money before leaving.

When I hear a whine, my eyes immediately dart down to my right. Maya is lying down on her side, Peeta on his knees beside her, carefully dabbing at her wound with a wet cloth. The wound she took for me. I'm just barely able to hear Peeta. "That a girl," he says. "You did well."

Hazelle arrives then, breathless, her face flushed, fresh snow slowly melting in her hair. She doesn't spare any of us a glance. She immediately goes to Gale's side, taking his hand and pressing it to her lips. The only clue I have to know that my mother realizes Hazelle's presence is when she looks up ever so slightly before instantly returning her attention to Gale. I know that he is in good hands. If anyone can save him, it's my mother. This is her element.

But then Gale begins to stir, a low, pained moan slipping from his lips. Hazelle strokes his hair and murmurs something to him that I can't hear. "Can't you give him anything?" I ask, feeling helpless.

My mother is still cleaning Gale's back, arranging the shredded skin so that I can see every single one of the lash marks. "I will," is all my mother says before she's once again absorbed in her task. After a few more minutes, she spreads a salve onto the wound that Prim had been working on all this time, and just as my mother is placing the final bandage over his back, Gale moans again, and I can hear that he's much closer to regaining consciousness.

My mother and Prim go to their meager store of pain killers. Most of them are herbal, with enough power to knock out a headache. Gale doesn't need these. He needs the expensive pain killers that are usually only accessible by doctors and they're always in demand. My mother has to be choosy when it comes to using her precious store of strong pain killers. That's why I can't be a healer. I can't stand to see people suffer. If I had control of these medicines, I would have used up the supply long ago. My mother has to be careful, using the heavier pain killers for the worst pain. But who is she to judge?

When she and Prim decide to use a weak, herbal medicine, I snap. "That won't be enough," I say sharply, causing my mother to look up at me. "That will barely knock out a headache! It's not enough!"

"We'll combine it with sleep syrup, Katniss, and he'll manage it. The herbs are more the inflammation—" my mother begins to explain, but I don't listen to her.

"Just give him the damn medicine!" I screech. Maybe I'm not thinking rationally, maybe my mother's reasoning does make more sense, but right now I really don't care. Gale is in pain. My best friend, whom I _just_ made amends with this morning. And now this. "Just give it to him!"

My mother glances at Peeta. "Take her out."

I feel Peeta's arm around my waist, beginning to steer me toward the door, but there's no way in hell I'm leaving Gale. Maybe it's guilt for all the months passing between us when we never said a word to each other. Maybe I'm simply afraid that he'll really die. I shake off Peeta's arm, and I think I say something to him, but in the next second both of his arms are around me and my feet are no longer touching the floor as he carries me out of the room, ignoring the obscenities I begin to shout at him and my mother.

If I weren't so mad, I would be impressed that Peeta manages to navigate the stairs, all while holding my flailing limbs. I feel myself being lowered onto a bed, but Peeta's arms never leave me. He lies beside me, holding me to his chest. The situation reminds me so much of when I'd locked myself in my room at the Training Center after my private session with the Gamemakers. Peeta had picked the lock on the door, ignored my screaming at him, and held me, like he's doing now. And just like last time, I cry into his chest, staining his shirt with my tears.

I don't know how long I cry, but eventually my tears run out. Maya lays on the bed beside me, having apparently followed Peeta up the stairs. My eyes find her wound, which has stopped bleeding, but the red line staining her fur has yet to disappear. This time, when I attempt to escape Peeta's arms, he lets me, and I sit up so I can get a better look at the lash. I gently run my fingers from her head all the way down her back. Her indigo eyes are staring at my face, watching me, as if she's making sure I'm okay.

"Thank you," I tell her softly as I scratch behind her ears.

I hear Peeta shift behind me and when I look to my right, he's sitting beside me. "You really know how to give me a heart attack," he says, barely managing a quirk of his lips that I think is supposed to pass as a smile.

"Sorry," I say softly.

"He'll be alright, you know," Peeta assures me. "Don't give up on him."

"I'm not," I reply quickly. "It's just, I mean, we were having so much fun today." I think back to the time we spent in the woods. "It was almost like before, except when he started threatening to beat you up if you do anything I deem reprehensible."

Peeta smiles. "See, I knew there was a reason I liked him."

"What? Because he threatens to beat you up?" I ask, and Peeta shakes his head.

"No, because he threatens to beat me up because he cares about you," Peeta explains. "I can't fault the guy for that."

We're silent for another minute before I whisper, "It could have been me." My eyes meet Peeta's. "I could have just as easily taken that turkey to Cray's. And then it would have been me that was arrested and whipped."

Peeta flinches. "I've been trying not to think about that." His eyes fall on Maya, who seems to be dozing. "I owe her. For jumping in front of you."

I absently reach up and touch my cheek, where I'm sure the whip would have cut me. "I don't know what I would have done if it had been you," Peeta says softly.

I wonder, too. Peeta, as a whole, is actually rather passive. He prefers peace, and he'd rather fight with words than with his fists. But there are a few times when I've glimpsed another side of him. Like in his fights with Cato, or when the Peacekeepers in District 11 got a little too rough, or when someone from the Capitol got a little too handsy with me. If Peeta sees a threat to me, he goes from the easy-going sweetheart I love to a protective, possessive alpha male that intrigues me.

"You would have saved me," I tell him.

"That's not up for debate," he replies quickly. "Of course I would have saved you. I just don't know what I would have done to Thread."

See? Protective, possessive, alpha male.

I put a hand on his chest and ease him down so that he's lying on his back. I throw an arm over his waist and my head rests on his chest. His arms come up to surround me and I sigh. "Things are going to change," I say softly. "With Thread around."

"I don't think anyone is willing to risk venturing into the woods, now," Peeta says. "Not after today."

"Thread doesn't like me," I state obviously and Peeta chuckles.

"You did uproot his authority in front of the entire square," he says, before his voice becomes serious. "You're going to have to be careful."

I don't know if it's just something he's saying in general or if he's warning me about going into the woods. But with Gale incapacitated for who knows how long, what about Hazelle and the kids? I wouldn't do any trading at the Hob. That would show my blatant disregard for the rules, especially after today. I'd simply give all the game to Hazelle.

But now that Thread knows who I am, he must know that I hunt, too. Anyone who watched the Games knows that I hunt illegally because how else would I have been able to use a bow like I do? And with what happened in the square today . . . Thread will be impatiently waiting for me to screw up. Relishing the thought of punishing me, no doubt . . .

"I'm always careful," I say to placate him, but it doesn't work.

"That's what worries me."

He's right. Inevitably, I seem to find trouble.

I end up falling asleep, tired from the stress of the day and from crying. But when I open my eyes due to a knocking at the front door, I know that I haven't been asleep long. Ignoring Peeta's mild protest, I get out of bed to go see who is at the door. I hear Peeta following behind me, and as I descend the stairs, I'm surprised to see that Haymitch is still here.

He opens the door just as I reach it, revealing a shivering Madge on the other side. Snow has begun to fall thick and fast and I know that there's a blizzard coming. Why is Madge out in this weather?

After the Games when I returned to 12, I hung out with Madge a lot more, going over to her house. We weren't gossipers and I could care less about clothes, so it's not like we had a lot of stereotypical girl-bonding time, though she did occasionally slip in a question about Peeta when I wasn't paying attention and I'd answer it without thinking. This little trickery of hers has caused me to reveal more about mine and Peeta's relationship than I ever planned. Other than that, whenever I went over to Madge's house, she taught me piano, and I even took her out into the woods a few times, but she's almost just as bad as Prim when it comes to adventure and hunting.

"Madge?" I question confused.

She holds out a box, filled with six vials of clear liquid. "Use these for your friend," she says as she hands them to me. "They're my mother's. She said I could take them. Use them, please."

I take the box, but before I can say anything in reply, Madge is already gone, making her way back to her house. Haymitch shuts the door, muttering something under his breath that I don't quite catch. My mother comes in and sees the vials and immediately takes them from me.

I follow her back into the dining room, and when I see Gale, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat, his teeth gritted together in pain, I'm immensely relieved that Madge delivered the medicine. My mother quickly fills a syringe with the clear liquid from one of the vials and shoots it into Gale's arm. Almost immediately, the tension in his face lessens, and I relax. Hazelle rises to her feet, looking regretful. "I've got to get back to the kids," she says.

"I'll stay with him," I offer automatically and Hazelle smiles at me gratefully.

"Thank you, Katniss," she says as she gives me a big hug. "For everything."

When Hazelle is gone, I occupy the chair she'd been using. I take Gale's hand and study his face, looking for any signs of pain. There are none. The medicine has already kicked in fully. "What kind of medicine was that?" Peeta asks.

"Morphling," my mother replies. "It's from the Capitol."

Peeta nods. "It's good stuff," he says knowingly.

I don't know much about Peeta's hospital stay after the Games. We tend to avoid the topic. Mainly because I freaked out the minute I woke up, my last memory being of seeing Peeta's heart rate monitor flat lining. None of the doctors would tell me if he was still alive and after I basically tried to attack them, they kept me sedated until I was released. But I don't know about Peeta's experience. He doesn't talk about it, and I've never asked.

My mother looks at me. "Are you going to stay with him?"

"Yeah," I answer before looking at her sheepishly. "Sorry for those things I said."

"I've heard worse," my mother says in reply, but I know I'm forgiven.

A few minutes later, my mother and Prim go upstairs to get some rest. Haymitch leaves soon after and it's just me, Peeta, and Gale. We sit quietly for about an hour. Me in the chair by Gale's head, still clutching his hand, and Peeta on the couch, watching me. "You can go home, you know," I say. "You need to sleep, too."

"So do you," he returns evenly.

"I'm not leaving him," I say, before frowning, a thought occurring to me. "This doesn't bother you, does it?" I ask, thinking of my actions. Everything has been all about Gale, the boy who I could have easily fallen in love with. Both Peeta and I know this. What has Peeta been thinking all this time as I worry and fuss over Gale?

Peeta smiles, shaking his head. "Why would it bother me that you care about your best friend?" He stands and walks over to me, his hands on my shoulders. "I love you. I know you love me. Why should I worry?"

For what seems like the millionth time, I'm struck by how good a person Peeta is. Kind, gentle, and selfless. Trusting. It doesn't bother him that I care for Gale as much as I do. Our closeness doesn't cause Peeta to resent him. He knows how much Gale means to me and he respects it. He is far too good for me.

"I do love you," I say softly.

Peeta smiles, giving me a kiss. "I'll be upstairs."

"Okay."

The moment he leaves, I look back at Gale, shocked to find that his eyes are open. "He's good for you," he says.

"Too good."

Gale's eyes close for a moment before they open again. "Thanks, Catnip."

I can only assume he means for saving him from Thread. We both know that if I had arrived a minute later, he would be dead. "I wasn't about to let you die. I just got you back."

Gale smiles before the drugs pull him back under.

When dawn breaks, I'm still at Gale's side, watching over him. It's a testament to my tiredness that I don't hear Peeta enter the room. I almost jump out of my seat when he lays a gentle hand on my shoulder, saying something about my mother and Prim taking over for me. With what seems like little effort, he scoops me up into his arms and I don't complain. My eyes are already drooping, the need for sleep overcoming me. I'm nearly asleep when my head touches the pillow, but I'm not comfortable. Peeta straightens up to leave, but my fingers clutch at his shirt. "Stay," I whisper, smiling tiredly when Peeta lies beside me. I reposition myself so that my head rests on his chest, which is much more comfortable than any pillow, and finally allow myself to sleep.

The next two days we're all snowed in because of the blizzard. Although, the snow is proving extremely useful for Gale's back since my mother has a special remedy called snow coat. A mix of snow and some of her herbal medicine that she places on Gale's back. It's cold and numbing and combined with occasional shots of morphling Gale's recovery is as painless as possible.

Once the snow clears, Peeta and I take a walk into town. Six foot high drifts of snow are piled along the sides of the road, and Peeta can't help but wonder at the possibilities of a snow ball fight with his brothers. I can only shiver at the outrageousness that I'm sure would ensue.

Not many people are out and about, but when we walk into town, both of us stop in our tracks. "That's different," Peeta says after a beat of silence. "Thread works fast."

I hadn't thought that anything would happen during the blizzard, but I was wrong. A large banner with the seal of Panem hangs from the Justice Building. Peacekeepers are marching along the streets. I see machine gun nests on the rooftops. But what gives me the most pause is the structures in the middle of the square. Stockades. An official whipping post. And a gallows—standing tall right in the middle.

I see a blaze flare up a few streets away. "The Hob," I say, looking at Peeta. "You don't think that everyone was in there—" I trail off as I think of Greasy Sae and all my friends.

"No," Peeta shakes his head. "That wouldn't be a smart move."

"I want to check on Hazelle," I say. "I expected her to be on our front porch the moment the snow cleared."

"I need to check on the bakery," Peeta replies, and I nod.

"It's on the way. Let's go there first."

We don't meet anyone on the street like we would a normal day, but that doesn't mean that we aren't seen. As we walk I see more than one face peering at us through their shutters. They're scared, terrified. After Peeta, Haymitch, and I stood up to Thread, they'll see any association with us as too much of a risk. I can't believe I actually thought that I could start an uprising. Peeta was right. They are too scared.

We enter the bakery to find Chris, Peeta's oldest brother, behind the counter. Chris and I haven't had many interactions. He's the quiet one of the three, and plus he's married, so he has someone else to give his attentions to, but he's never said a bad word to me and always says 'hi' whenever I pass him in town.

He looks up when the bell over the door tinkles, announcing our presence. "Hey, Peet," he says. "Katniss."

"How's everything?" Peeta asks. "You get through the blizzard okay?"

"Hmm, trapped in the house with my wife for two whole days . . ." Chris grins as he trails off suggestively. "Yeah, Peet, I got through the blizzard okay."

Peeta rolls his eyes, but I still can't help but blush at Chris's insinuation. Both of them notice and laugh. "Shut up," I tell them both, but it's pointless when Rye comes in, covered in flour from baking bread, his face slightly red from working so close to the fires.

"Well, hey there, sweetcheeks," he says and I scowl. "Oh, don't be like that. I've had two whole days to come up with more jokes, just for you."

"Fantastic," I deadpan and Rye laughs.

"See? You _are_ funny," he says as he throws his arm around me, getting flour all over me. "You just don't know it."

"What's going on in here?" All of us freeze as Mrs. Mellark enters the room, a scowl on her face that could match my own in potency.

Mrs. Mellark looks like you would think a mother of three boys would. She's a small woman, about my height, but plump with extra curves. Her blonde hair was once in a strict bun, but a few strands have fallen to frame her face. She actually looks like a nice, warm woman from afar.

And then she speaks.

"Get this trash out of my sight," she hisses at me, though her words are directed at Peeta. "I just cleaned the floors. I don't need her filth dirtying them beyond recognition."

"Mom," Peeta protests angrily. "That's enough."

"No, Peeta," I say as I turn to fully face my future mother in law. "I don't think she's even begun to scratch the surface of her feelings for me." My eyes narrow as I glower at Mrs. Mellark. "I would love to hear _exactly_ what she thinks of me."

If it were humanly possible, I swear there would be steam coming out of Mrs. Mellark's ears. Her face is flushed with anger and she looks mad enough to spit. "I think that you're cheaper than dirt," she begins. "You're a worthless creature that taints everything and everyone you come touch. But I guess you must really be something in the night because I can't think of another reason why my son would stay with you."

Fury cannot accurately describe the rage I feel. I'm not even mad that she implied I'm a whore, and a talented one at that. I'm furious because of what she implied about Peeta, that he's only with me for sex. How could she think such a thing about her son? A son that went through the Games, that fought in the arena. Does she not realize how precious he is? She should be cherishing the moments she has with him, loving him, instead of condemning him for being who he is. A loving, pure-hearted, gentle boy who is the epitome of goodness.

"Then again, he's never been very much to be proud of," she continues. "Pining after you for years, ignoring the girls that are his equal. You've just sunk your claws in, haven't you?" She looks me up and down in disgust. "What with your hunting, and your wild ways. Should have been you that got whipped the other day. Not that I'm not glad the boy got what was coming to him."

A red haze clouds my vision as my fury threatens to overcome me. I'm practically shaking with it. "You done?" I ask through clenched teeth.

"That's all the time I'm wasting on you," she says, and moves to walk away, but I'm not done with her yet.

"But Mrs. Mellark," I say. "I haven't said what _I_ think of _you_."

Just as I suspected, my words stop her in her tracks and she turns to face me. "You're a miserable excuse for a human being," I begin bluntly. "You have three wonderful sons that you don't give a damn about, and that's despicable. Peeta is the kindest, the most caring, the most loving boy that will ever walk this wretched earth, and you're a fool for not seeing it. Compassion is not a tragic flaw; it's simply a strength that you don't possess."

Mrs. Mellark is quaking with anger, but I continue on. I've had months to think about all that I hate about this woman. "You're an ignorant woman who is blinded by prejudice. You should be happy that your son has found love, not condemning him for it. You almost lost him forever. You should be cherishing every moment you have with him! It's the least he deserves after going through hell, but you're too much of a self-righteous idiot to see it!"

"That's what I think of you, Mrs. Mellark. You're a plain, fat, cruel bitch of a woman who isn't decent enough to be within a hundred miles of my _filthy Seam presence_!"

And with that, I turn on my heel and stomp out the door. My feet carry me across town, and I'm so absorbed in my anger that when I feel someone grab my arm, I spin around with my fist already cutting through the air to punch whoever touched me in the first place.

Peeta easily catches my wrist, his eyebrows raised, but I don't pay attention. I throw my arms around his waist and hug him tightly. His arms wrap around me, though I know that he's confused. "What's this for?" he asks.

"You need a hug," I say, my ire at his mother barely beginning to fade. "You need to be loved every minute of every day. It's not fair that you haven't been."

In response Peeta hugs me tighter, burying his face in my hair. "It's not that I wasn't loved," he says. "I had my father and Rye and Chris. I still do."

"But she's your _mother_," I stress. "I don't understand how she doesn't love you. You're her child. She brought you into the world." I pause, thinking. "And it's only redeemable thing she's done."

Peeta's quiet, and it worries me. I pull away from him to look at his face. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"No," he shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. "You should have stayed a second longer to see everyone's faces. Mom stormed off without another word. Rye was praising you. Chris was speechless. And I was . . . overwhelmed." Peeta runs his fingertips along my cheekbone. "I've never had anyone stand up for me like that. Thank you."

"I meant every word."

"I know."

I take his hand and begin walking toward the Seam, wanting to check on Hazelle and the kids. We walk for a few minutes in silence before I say, "Just so you know, I'm never being in the same room with your mother again."

"I don't think that will be a problem. She's going to pretend you don't exist."

"Wonderful, because I can't stand her."

"I think you made that fairly clear," Peeta says with a smile, but it falters.

I give his hand a squeeze, knowing that he's not mad or upset with me. It must have been painful hearing his mother talk like that about him, like she can't stand the sight of him. Worst of all, she never denied a single thing I accused her of because she knew it was true. Peeta loves his mother, I know. And that's the hardest thing for him, I think. Loving someone who he knows doesn't really love him back.

When we reach the Seam, I immediately head toward Hazelle's. It doesn't take three minutes before I'm knocking on the door. "Oh, Katniss, Peeta, it's good to see you," she says when she opens the door, stepping aside to let us in. "How's Gale?"

"He's getting better every day," I tell her. "You know how strong he is."

Hazelle nods, though she's frowning. "I would go to him," she says, fretting, wringing her hands. "But Posy's sick, and I can't leave her."

I spot Posy lying on the couch, distinctive measles spots dotting her skin. I set a handful of money on the kitchen table. "I'll have my mother send something for Posy," I say. "And she says that Gale should return to the mines in a couple of weeks."

"They might not be open until then," Hazelle says. "Word is that they're closed until further notice." Her eyes dart to her empty washtub.

"Did you shut down too?" I ask.

"Not necessarily," Hazelle replies. "Apparently, no one has anything that needs washing. I sent Rory out this morning, but . . ."

"Maybe it's the snow," Peeta says, and Hazelle nods, though I think everyone in the room knows that it's not the reason.

We make idle chitchat for a minute more before Peeta and I leave, promising to come by later with some medicine for Posy. When we step outside, I can't help but look toward the smoke in the sky. "I want to go to the Hob," I say.

Peeta doesn't comment; he simply follows me. The heat of the flames can be felt thirty yards away. Little rivers of black flow out from the building, coal dust. I simply stare at the flames, at the crumbling building that's succumbing to the fire. All the memories of this place, some of which I treasure because they involved my father, flit through my mind.

My anger grows as the flames continue to destroy the Hob. I hate the Capitol destroying everything I love. Their power that they continue to flaunt, trying to beat us down. Well, I refuse to bow to them.

The days pass, and they're terrible. With the mines closed, practically everyone in the Seam is out of money, and food becomes scarce. The amount of children signing up for tesserae soars. One of these children is Rory, and Gale refuses to even talk about it. The food for Parcel day arrives spoiled and defiled by rats. There's nothing to salvage. Even those with money are affected by the shortages. People are being arrested for things that we've long since forgotten were even a crime in the first place. The stockades are always full, and Ripper, a one-armed woman who used to make and sell white liquor at the Hob, seems to be in the stocks so often that I'm wondering if she ever leaves. That's another thing, I no longer recognize a single Peacekeeper. These Peacekeepers are rough and stern, reminding me of those from District 11.

The only bright spot is that I get Haymitch to hire Hazelle as a housekeeper. It gives her a little extra money that she desperately needs, and dramatically increases Haymitch's standard of living. It's surreal to walk into his house and not be assaulted by the stench of alcohol, trash, and vomit. Not that Haymitch really notices, he's too busy fighting alcohol withdrawal. With Ripper in the stocks, he's without his supply. Both Peeta and I had been collecting a small stock in case something like this happened, but it's running out.

When the mines finally reopen after about two weeks, wages are cut and shifts are lengthened. Miners are sent into blatantly dangerous zones. Gale returns to work about a week or so later.

Ever since seeing the Hob in flames, my anger has been simmering beneath the surface. And it's not the starving sick children, the terrified faces of the people, or the fact that I've basically become a pariah to most everyone in District 12 that finally causes me to snap.

It's a crate of wedding dresses, approved by President Snow himself.

The wedding . . . I'd honestly forgotten about it. But at the reminder, I can't believe that Snow is still going to make us go through with it. What's the purpose? Shouldn't he be focusing on the uprisings? Or have they settled down like Haymitch thought they would? Has he returned his attention to me now that he has nothing left to occupy him? Is he going to force us to go through the wedding and then kill us afterwards? What's he playing at?

This is what causes me to slip out of Peeta's embrace early the very next morning. I dress in my warmest clothes and slip into my hunting boots without making a sound. I debate leaving a note, but I know that he'll quickly figure out where I am.

The woods are strictly forbidden. Neither Gale nor I have tested this new edict since his whipping, but today I am. Maya wants to follow me, but I make her stay in the house. I don't need her paw prints giving away where I enter the woods. I make my way through the back alleys and streets of town, eventually coming to a weak spot in the fence right behind Rooba's butcher shop that is well travelled by miners. With all the footprints in the snow, mine won't be noticed.

For all of Thread's upgrades, the fence he's left alone. It doesn't hum with electricity. I slip under the fence and am filled with smug satisfaction. I melt into the woods, quickly retrieve my bow and arrows, and begin the long trek I have in mind. I'm filled with a determination to reach the lake. I don't know why exactly, maybe because I see it as the one place that no one can take from me. Through everything, that lake has always remained untouched by the Capitol and perhaps that is what I'm craving. To be somewhere out of the Capitol's reach.

It takes me twice as long as normal to reach the lake, though the exertion of walking through knee high snow has allowed me to keep relatively warm. I'm so absorbed in my thoughts of Peeta, the wedding, and the Capitol that I don't notice the smoke coming from the chimney until I'm only a few feet from the concrete building.

It's a little building that's always been there. There are foundations of other buildings that used to surround the lake, and my father thought that this was once a place where everyone came to swim and camp. But this building is the only one that's left standing, only because it's made of concrete—floors, walls, and ceiling. And right now it appears to be occupied.

I take a curious step forward, but I hear a sound that makes me freeze.

It's the unmistakable click of a gun behind me.

* * *

**Well, lots happened this chapter. Gale got whipped, but will be okay. Maya took the lash for Katniss. Katniss put the verbal beatdown on Mrs. Mellark. And know Katniss is about to meet two very important people. We all know who they are. :)**

**And the quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Katniss!**

_**I'm trapped.**_

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	15. Chapter 15

**************************A/N: Sorry this is a little late, guys! Busy morning, the bane of my existence. And THANK YOU SO FREAKIN' MUCH for getting me over 800!**

**************************So, I'll just skip the usual babble and get right to the quote of the day and then on to the chapter!**

**************************Today's quote comes from none other than my favorite super hero, Tony Stark aka Iron Man.**

**************************"It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me." - _The Avengers_**

**************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."

* * *

Chapter 15

Instinct. Reflex. They are beautiful things, especially when in mortal peril. I spin around to face my attacker, drawing and loading an arrow as I do so. I aim right between my foe's eyes, absently noting the white Peacekeeper's uniform. I wonder if they think I'll 'come quietly.' Or maybe they just planned on killing me here and then leaving me.

Fat chance of that happening.

My fingers are just about to slip from the string when suddenly the Peacekeeper's eyes widen. "Stop!" she exclaims, holding something in her palm.

I don't see why she thinks this will save her life, but my eyes betray me to see what she has in her hand. It's small and round, appearing to be some sort of white, soggy cracker. But what causes my mind to draw a complete blank is my mockingjay, stamped clearly in the middle.

"What does it mean?" I ask her sharply, my arrow still aimed between her eyes.

"It means we're on your side." The voice that answers is coming from behind me. She must have been in the house. I don't hear the click of another weapon, but that doesn't mean that I'm letting my guard down.

"Come around!" I order. "Come around so I can see you!"

"She can't," the woman says. "She's—"

"I don't care," I snap. "Come around!"

I hear a shuffling behind me, the sound of something dragging through the snow, but eventually the other person appears in front of me. Well, actually she's a girl. My age. But she's dwarfed in an ill-fitting Peacekeepers uniform, complete with the fur cloak. She leans on a poorly cut crutch, looking haggard, but I see a spark of hope in her eyes.

"Who are you?" I ask, looking quickly between the two of them. I know that they can't be Peacekeepers. They don't have that look. They're too slight, and not nearly violent enough. If they were really enforcers, I would have been arrested or shot a minute ago. I examine the youngest closely. She has a slight frame, her face is red with cold, her teeth are crooked. My eyes flit to her companion, an older woman that I estimate to be around thirty-five. No, these people are not Peacekeepers.

"I'm Twill," the older woman replies. "And this is Bonnie."

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice losing some of its harshness.

"We're from District 8," Bonnie answers and my eyes widen.

District 8? The uprising in District 8? My thoughts are suddenly flying at this new development. "Where did you get the uniforms?"

"I stole them from the factory," Bonnie explains. "We make them there. Only I thought this one would be . . . for someone else. That's why it fits so poorly."

"The gun came from a dead Peacekeeper," Twill adds and I notice for the first time how awkwardly she's holding the weapon. She's clearly not very much of a threat. Neither of them are.

But that doesn't mean I'm any less wary. Two escapees from District 8? How'd did they get here, in the woods of District 12? Why are they running in the first place? What's their destination? Do they even have one? And what is with the mockingjay cracker?

"That cracker in your hand," I say. "What does it mean?"

Bonnie frowns. "Don't you know, Katniss?" she asks surprised.

"Know?" I repeat. "Know what? I know it matches the pin I wore in the arena."

It doesn't really shock me that they know who I am. I really should have thought of this before, when they told me that they were 'on my side.' Or whatever that meant. But it makes sense that they recognize me. Who else wears a braid, is good with a bow, and hunts in the woods of District 12?

"Do you not know any of it?" Bonnie asks softly, and I feel the need to prove that I'm on top of things.

"I know that you had an uprising in 8."

Twill nods. "Yes, that's why we had to get out."

"Okay, I get that," I say. "But where are you going to go?"

"District 13," Twill answers and my eyebrows rise in disbelief.

"13 was destroyed," I tell them. Everyone knows this. During the Dark Days, the Capitol blew 13 off the map, since it was thought that they were the instigators of the war in the first place. They still play the footage, showing the smoking ruins of the district, just to remind us of their power. "There's nothing left."

"Seventy-five years ago," Bonnie says, and I can't help the dubious laugh that escapes me.

"What? You think there are people there?"

Bonnie and Twill nod. "That's why we have to go there," Bonnie says. "To spread the word."

I'm positive that Bonnie and Twill aren't a threat, but I still can't trust them completely. I step forward, my bow still raised, and take the gun from Twill. She lets me take it without a fuss. "Let's get inside," I say. "And you can tell me everything."

I follow Bonnie and Twill into the little house and see the pot of steaming water and pine needles. "Making tea?" I ask as Bonnie sits down heavily near a feeble fire, warming her pale hands. Twill wraps her cloak over Bonnie's shoulders.

"I'm not sure really," Twill replies. "I remember seeing someone do this with pine needles on the Hunger Games a few years ago."

I'm reminded of my brief visit to District 8 on the Victory Tour. Factories upon factories. Everything was manmade. I don't even think I saw one blade of grass. It would make sense that Bonnie and Twill are completely out of their element. They never got the chance to learn the ways of nature. I'm impressed they've made it as far as they have.

"Out of food?" I ask.

Bonnie nods. "We took as much as we could, but it ran out a while ago."

Pity fills me at her tone, sounding so small and feeble. I slip my game bag off my shoulder. "Well, then it's your lucky day," I say as I take out two cheese buns. I toss one to Twill, but I hand the other to Bonnie.

I made a quick stop by my house before slipping under the fence, mainly so that my mom wouldn't worry about my absence. Food shortages are still apparent, and since I have more than I need, I've been trying to spread the wealth a little bit. Peeta has too. I'll take food to my friends from the Hob, especially Greasy Sae, and, of course, the Hawthornes. I made sure to take enough food this morning to give me the whole afternoon to myself without my mother worrying about me. Peeta, of course, knows me too well to be fooled by my subterfuge, but I don't think about that. I already know the disapproving frown I'll see on his face the moment I walk through the door.

Bonnie and Twill eat the cheese buns faster than they should, and I have to remind both of them to take it slower. I notice that their tea is done, and Twill hands me two tin cups from her pack. I fill each of the cups with the steaming liquid and let them eat and drink their tea while I build up their fire.

All the while I'm wondering about their story. I know that there was an uprising in District 8, but the Capitol men I'd overheard hadn't been too specific, though I did know that they were worried about it. At least, they were at the time. What's happened since?

"So," I ask. "What's your story?"

And they tell me.

District 8 had been simmering with rage just like all the other districts. Until one day, whispered words of rebellion and a new future were not enough. They wanted to take action. Since the textile factories are loud and packed with people, it's easy to drop a whispered word here and there. Twill, it turns out, was a teacher, and Bonnie was one of her students. After school, they each had a four hour shift in the factories. It took months for Bonnie to eventually get two Peacekeepers uniforms, one for Twill and one for her husband. Bonnie would take a boot here, a pair of pants there, until she had two complete uniforms. It was understood that for the uprising to continue, someone would have to escape the district and spread the word, telling the other districts of their triumph to encourage them to rebel too.

As it turns out, the day Peeta and I were in District 8 for our Victory Tour was sort of a practice run. The people positioned themselves according to their teams, each team in charge of taking over a building. The Justice Building, the Communications Center, and the Peacekeepers Headquarters were the three main targets. The armory, railroad station, and the power station were secondary. If the rebels could get control of those buildings then they would have a chance.

The night that Peeta proposed was when everything was put into motion. It was brilliant really, considering that since the interview with Caesar Flickerman was required viewing, it gave everyone a reason to be in the square, huddled around the large television screens. Everyone was in their places when the clock struck eight, and then all hell broke loose.

Masks were put on and the uprising began. Due to the initial overwhelming numbers, the rebels actually had the advantage, overpowering the Peacekeepers. Guns were taken from the fallen by the rebels and it was chaos. The rebels were able to secure the Communications Center, the granary, and the power station.

But their triumph didn't last long. Reinforcements in the form of thousands of Peacekeepers stormed the district. Buildings were bombed by hovercraft, and in less than forty-eight hours the city was subdued and the uprising quieted. The people were put on lockdown for a week. No food, no coal, no nothing for an entire week. Televisions were filled with static, unless they showed the uprising instigators being hanged. When everyone in the district was on the brink of starvation, everything started back like normal.

It is a fluke that Bonnie and Twill are still alive. The road that they usually took to get from the school to the factory was blocked, so they had to take another route. It was this that saved their lives. "We were maybe a hundred yards away when it blew," Bonnie says. "The entire factory just exploded into bits of rock and metal."

"The explosion killed everyone inside," Twill says sadly. "Including my husband and all of Bonnie's family. We ran back to my house, got the uniforms and all the supplies we could carry, including food from our neighbors that we knew were dead." Twill frowns. "I still feel guilty about it."

"We managed to get into a train car," Bonnie says. "Because of our uniforms and it took us to District 6. We left the train when it stopped for fuel and took to the woods, though we still used the railroad tracks to guide us. We just kept walking, and we would be still but we had to stop because I twisted my ankle. We've been hiding out here for two days."

It's a lot of information to take in. I'd never imagined the uprising being so violent. The Capitol men had made it sound like a skirmish, not a full scale rebellion. Even though the uprising fell, the rebels succeeded. In the way that they showed they weren't going to cower in fear any longer. I have a great respect for everyone in 8 that found the courage to fight back.

But something nags at me as I remember something that Twill said. She said that they were trying to get to District 13, a district that everyone knows to be destroyed, nothing but a blackened, smoking heap of rubble.

"Okay, I get why you're running," I say. "But what exactly do you expect to find in District 13?"

"We're not sure," Twill says as she shares an anxious glance with Bonnie.

"It's nothing but rubble," I remind them. "We've all seen the footage."

"That's just it though," Bonnie says. "It's the same footage they show each time. Everyone in District 8 can't remember seeing anything different."

I frown. "Really?"

Twill nods. "You know how they always show the Justice Building?" she asks and I nod. "If you look very carefully, you'll see it. Up in the far right-hand corner. A mockingjay wing. It's just a flash, but it's there. Every single time they play the footage. The bird is always there."

"Back home, we think they keep reusing the old footage because the Capitol can't show what's really there now," Bonnie says.

I'm still not convinced. Their evidence is too thin. They're merely desperate people clinging to one last hope. "That's all you're going on? A mockingjay wing? You think you're going to find some new city with people strolling around in it? The Capitol would never allow it."

"No," Twill agrees, but her hope hasn't been dampened by my logic. "We think the people moved underground when everything on the surface was destroyed. We think they've managed to survive. And we think the Capitol leaves them alone because before the Dark Days, District 13's principal industry was nuclear development."

I open my mouth to disagree with them. District 13 were graphite miners. But that's only what the Capitol has told me. Why should I trust their information?

"They were graphite miners," I say hesitantly, but Twill shakes her head.

"They had a few mines, yes, but that doesn't justify their population size," she says. "That, I guess, is the only thing we know for sure."

My head is spinning. Despite my earlier misgivings, I can't help the excited thrill running through me at the thought of District 13 actually existing. That there was, maybe, somewhere for me to go. Me, Peeta, our families, even Haymitch. There was a place we could go, a safe place left alone by the Capitol. Who knows? Maybe we could even help with the rebellion from there. But then I have a thought . . . if 13 supposedly had all these powerful weapons . . .

"Why haven't they helped us then?" I ask angrily. "If they have all these weapons, why have they let the rest of us suffer when they could have helped?"

Both Twill and Bonnie look to the ground. "We don't know," Bonnie admits quietly. "Right now, we're just holding out hope that they exist."

My pity for them overcomes my need to tell them that they're both delusional, chasing a dream. They have no home. They have lost everything. Of course District 13, a district that thwarted the Capitol and lived despite it all, would draw them in. A surviving hope that they're clinging to. I can't stand to take that away from them.

So I give them the rest of the food I have in my game bag. I make a new crutch for Bonnie, and I also give her an extra pair of socks, telling her to stuff them in the toes of her boots so that they will fit her better and then she can wear them at night to try and keep her toes from freezing. I teach Twill how to hunt and skin a kill. The first squirrel she manages to shoot is hardly edible because she shot it right through the body, but I tell her that she'll get better with time. At last, I teach them how to build a proper fire.

It's after I do all of this that I look up at the sky and note the time of the day. Late afternoon. By the time I get home it will almost be dark. Guilt creeps into my veins as I think of Peeta. My mother may be fooled by my trick with the food, but Peeta knows better. No doubt he's worried, thinking I would have been home by now, and he's right because on a typical day, I would have been home around lunch. At home, everyone is probably an hour shy of dinner.

"I've got to go," I say.

They thank me profusely, each of them hugging me tightly.

"I can't believe we actually got to meet you," Bonnie says, tears threatening to fall. "You're practically all anyone's talk about since—"

"Since I pulled out those berries, I know," I interrupt her with a tolerant smile. I'm seriously tempted to tell them that I never meant to start a rebellion, that I was only trying to save myself and Peeta, but I stop myself. I can't find it within me to dishearten them.

The walk back to the fence takes just as long as I thought it would, but it gives me time to think. Peeta and I were right when we said that President Snow had given us an impossible task during the Victory Tour. Yes, we may have provided the spark for the rebellion, but how could he have expected us to control the fire? I realize that he was just trying to keep us busy, keep us distracted so that we didn't do anything further to fuel the unrest.

A flash of a mockingjay wing catches my eye and I'm reminded of the cracker. The cracker with my mockingjay stamped onto it. _It means we're on your side._ My side? I had a side? Had I become the face of this rebellion? My mockingjay?

I reach the hollow log where I always hide my weapons, and tuck them gently inside. My feet carry me to the fence, the weak spot closest to my old house in the Seam. I'm just about to reach for the fence when my senses catch up to me. In my shock, I nearly stumble back and fall into the snow.

The fence looks exactly the same, the chain-link dull in the fading light. However, the one thing different is the distinct humming sound, telling me that the fence is electrified.

I'm trapped.

* * *

**Well, nothing much original here, except me adding in a few thoughts of Peeta, but this was a crucial part of the book that I couldn't ignore. So, here it be.**

**Next chapter has more 'Me' so hopefully it'll be more fun! :)**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta!**

**"Exactly how many of my shirts do you have?"**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	16. Chapter 16

**************************A/N: Hey guys! Once more, thank you so much for the reviews! They make my day! **

**************************So . . . *cough* . . . keep me happy and review . . .**

**************************This chapter has a whole lot more "me" to it, so hopefully this read will be a lot of fun. :)**

**************************Quote of the day comes from _Harry Potter_.**

**************************"It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more." - Albus Dumbledore**

**************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."

* * *

Chapter 16

Oh, crap.

I flee back into the safety of the tree line, practically waiting for Peacekeepers to come out of nowhere and snag me. My mind frantically searches for any kind of solution. I can't risk going under the fence, avoiding the chain link. Even with my slim body it's practically impossible. I suppose I could walk along the fence, searching for a spot that isn't electrified, if such a spot even exists.

The cold nights won't allow me to stay out in the woods. I'll freeze. No doubt we'll get more snow tonight, and I really don't feel like freezing to death. Now, if I had Peeta and heat reflective sleeping bag, that scenario wouldn't be so abominable. I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts. I really don't need that type of distraction right now.

Still, I'm fighting a panic as I continue to stare at the fence. The hum of the electricity is as loud as a hive of tracker jackers, and I'm not relishing the comparison and the memories that come with it. It's not as though this is the first time this has happened. Twice actually, Gale and I have returned to the fence and found it electrified. We always waited it out. It was never for more than a few hours, and both times it was in the summer where the cool shade of the trees was a relief, and not a cause for more shivering.

I know that I can't stay out here. I have to find a way over the fence. One, because I have no doubt that I'll have Peacekeepers waiting for me in the morning to take me away if I don't show up in town tomorrow. They'll know that I'm stuck in the woods. Second reason is because if I'm not home soon, Peeta is going to come looking for me, which would also tip off the Peacekeepers that something is amiss and he'll lead them straight to me.

I have to find a way over this damn fence.

My eyes scan the trees. Maybe if I could find one whose branches extend over the fence, I could climb it and then drop down on the other side? The only problem with this plan is the fall that I would face. Any higher than six feet and I risk breaking something if I land wrong. I begin to walk along the fence, my eyes searching for a suitable tree. After a few hundred yards I finally spot a tree that I think will serve my purpose. It's an old maple, and I quickly scale it, though I'm extra cautious due to the ice patches that decorate the tree in some places.

When I reach the branch that extends over the fence, I gently ease myself onto it, slowly moving along its length until I'm hanging on the other side of the fence. However, my fingers refuse to let go because I know that I'm going to get hurt when I land.

The fence stands at about fifteen to twenty feet, which means I have to be at least twenty feet high to avoid getting fried. The branch I'm currently hanging from is about twenty-five feet. Even if I'm able to land properly, I'm going to at least twist something, maybe sprain, though the snow will help soften my impact with the ground. Even for an experienced climber like me, there's no avoiding the pain that this long drop is going to bring.

But pain is not a foreign concept to me.

I take a deep breath, and then I let go.

The fall doesn't last as long as you would think, but when I hit the ground the impact sends a jolt throughout my entire body. And then I feel the fiery pain in my left knee. It's twisted. I know it is. I've dealt with this injury before, and it's just as painful as I remember it being. I curse under my breath, but try to focus and see if I have any other injuries. Aside from the zinging in my feet from the hard impact with the ground, I think I'm unharmed. Except for my knee, which is screaming at me.

The last time I twisted my knee, I was in the woods with Gale and he carried me home. I don't have that luxury this time. Oh, well. I grit my teeth as I get to my feet, putting all my weight on my right leg. I immediately realize that there's no way I'm going to avoid more pain. There's no way I can hop my way through snow that is at least a foot high, and that's a minimum. Not that I could necessarily make my way through town hopping on one foot.

Sure to draw attention if I do that.

The pain of my first step causes me to hiss, but I soldier through it, trying to hide my limp as best I can. My mind is racing with alibis. My mother and Prim can't know that I was in the woods. I know Peeta won't tell them, he'd never betray me like that, but simply giving out food wouldn't take as much time as I've been gone, even if I stopped and talked to every single person I met. I need another excuse.

Once I get onto the road in the Seam, my walking is a little bit easier since I don't have to navigate all the snow since the roads have been cleared. Still, that doesn't detract from the stabbing pain in my knee. I force myself to walk straight and tall in town, going into a couple of shops to buy a few things. A bag of peppermints for Prim. Some white cloth bandages for my mother. She's running low and I meant to get them today anyway.

Realizing that I haven't eaten a thing all day, I take out a peppermint and pop it in my mouth. I'd meant to make a meal out of the food I brought to the lake, but I'd given it all to Bonnie and Twill, which reminds me that I need to find a time to tell Peeta, maybe Haymitch.

But first I need to think of a story to tell my mother about exactly how I twisted my knee. Maybe I could say that I was fixing a leak on the roof of our old house and slipped over the edge. Slipped on a patch of ice? That might work. Certainly plausible, right?

When I finally reach the Victor's Village, I'm barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I debate going to Peeta's house, but I decide that he's probably at my house anyway, waiting for me. We were supposed to have dinner with my mother and Prim tonight. I think Prim mentioned Haymitch joining us, too. I force myself up the steps to the front door, and the weight it puts on my knee almost makes me collapse, but I keeping walking.

I open the door, my current goal to make it into the living room and collapse in front of the fire, but when I look up that plan is shot to hell. Two Peacekeepers are standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The woman manages to look impassive, but the man can't hide his surprise when he sees me. So the electrified fence was no accident. They were trying to trap me.

Well, _haha_, I escaped. What now?

"Hello," I say, keeping my voice calm.

My mother suddenly appears behind them. "Here she is, just in time for dinner," she says. Her voice is too forced, though. It doesn't sound genuine. Besides, dinner was hours ago.

"Can I help you with something?" I ask as I take off my jacket and shake out the snow in my hair. I would take my boots off, but there's no way I'd manage with my knee.

"Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you," says the woman, her voice seeming unnaturally low for a female.

"They've been waiting for hours," my mother tells me.

Of course they have. They've been waiting for me not to return, for me to get zapped by the fence or get trapped in the woods. If my knee wasn't hurting to the point of total distraction, I would feel incredibly smug that I'd outwitted them.

"Must be an important message," I say mildly as I force myself to walk past them into the kitchen without limping.

When I see Peeta and Haymitch sitting by the hearth in a pair of matching rockers playing chess, I'm instantly relieved. Maya is lying at their feet, though her eyes are trained on the Peacekeepers, tracking their every move. Peeta gives me one of his best smiles, though I see his eyes narrow ever so slightly. He knows something's wrong. Or he's just mad at me for going into the woods.

Probably a little of both.

I settle myself into a chair at the kitchen table, tossing my bag down at my feet. My eyes find the Peacekeepers, looking at them expectantly. The woman speaks. "May we ask where you've been, Miss Everdeen?"

"Easier to ask where I _haven't_ been," I say with exasperation, shooting a mild glare at Prim, who is standing stiffly by the hearth, watching Peeta and Haymitch's chess game.

"So where haven't you been?" Haymitch says, boredom clear as day in his tone.

"Well, I haven't been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim's goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives," I say, my words aimed at Prim in my best annoyed-older-sister voice.

"No, I didn't," Prim says, sounding defensive. "I told you exactly."

"You said he lives beside the west entrance to the mine."

"The _east_ entrance."

I scoff. "You distinctly said the west," I tell her emphatically. "Because then I said, 'Next to the slag heap?' and you said, 'Yeah.'"

Prim looks like I'm trying her patience. "The slag heap next to the _east_ entrance."

"No." I shake my head. "When did you say that?"

Haymitch snorts. "Last night."

"It was definitely the east," Peeta adds and he and Haymitch share a laugh at my expense.

I glare at Peeta and he tries to look apologetic, but he can't completely wipe that stupid smirk off his face. "I'm sorry, but it's what I've been saying. You don't listen when people talk to you."

Okay, this time when I glare at him, it's real. That was a jab at me for going into the woods, after he warned me to be careful. Peeta gives me a too innocent smile, and I scowl.

"Bet people told you he didn't live there today and you didn't listen again," Haymitch chimes in with a smirk and I huff.

"Shut up, Haymitch," I snap, making it sound as though that's exactly what happened.

Haymitch and Peeta laugh at me again, and even Prim cracks a smile.

"Fine." I glower at them all, though I make sure too look slightly embarrassed. "Somebody else can arrange to the get stupid goat knocked up," I grumble, which only makes everyone laugh more. I'm grateful to Peeta and Haymitch. Nothing throws them, it's how they've made it this far.

My eyes find the Peacekeepers. The man is smiling, but the woman remains unconvinced. "What's in the bag?"

I wonder what she's hoping for. Squirrels? Rabbits? A wild turkey? Wild plants? I'm grateful I stopped by and bought some stuff. It would look suspicious if I was carrying around an empty game bag for no reason.

"See for yourself," I say as I dump the contents onto the table.

"Oh, good," my mother immediately says, snatching up the cloth bandages. "We're running low. Thank you for getting them."

"No problem," I say with a shrug.

Peeta grins as he comes up to the table and snatches the bag of candy. "Ooh peppermints," he says as he pops one into his mouth.

"Hey," I protest, making a grab for them, but he tosses them to Haymitch, who stuffs a handful into his mouth before giving the bag to a giggly Prim. "None of you deserve candy!" I say.

Peeta comes up behind my chair, placing his large hands on my shoulders. "What, because we're right?" he teases me. I make of sound of indignation and Peeta sighs. "Okay. Prim said west. I distinctly heard west, and we're all idiots. How's that?"

"Better," I say with a smile as he kisses my cheek. Suddenly, I look up at the Peacekeepers, as if I just remembered their presence. "You had a message for me?"

"From Peacekeeper Thread," the woman repeats, as if this somehow makes it more important. "He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District 12 will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day."

"Didn't it already?" I ask innocently, unable to help myself.

I see the woman fight back her ire. "He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin."

I know that I should hold my tongue, but I can't help myself. The fact that I slipped through their clutches gives me a sense of satisfaction. This is what causes me to say, "Thank you. I'll tell him. I'm sure we'll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse."

With no further reason to stay, the woman simply nods curtly and leaves, the man following in her wake. I wait until I hear my mother shut the door behind them before I finally allow myself to wince. Peeta is immediately at my side, crouched in front of me. "What did you do?" he asks as my mother enters the room.

"Oh, I twisted my knee again," I say with a hiss as Peeta gently touches my bad knee. How he knew it was my left and not my right that was hurt, I have no idea. I conclude that it's just Peeta knowing me better than anyone.

My mother politely shoos Peeta away, telling him to go get some snow and wrap it in a towel for my knee. Meanwhile, my mother is rolling up my pant leg. Gently she puts some pressure at certain points on my knee and I fight the curse that threatens to escape me. Peeta returns with the snow, and I immediately sigh when the cold cloth hits my knee.

"It's twisted," my mother says, confirming what I already knew. "What happened?"

"Slipped on some ice," I answer, ignoring Haymitch's eye roll and Peeta's frown.

What matters is that my mother believes me. "You should be more careful," she chides.

"That's what I keep saying," Peeta adds, unable to help himself.

I glare at him. He glares at me.

"A week of bed rest should do you good," my mother says. "Don't put any pressure on it."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Without any prompt, Peeta scoops me up into his arms like it's the easiest thing in the world. Although, given how much I've seen him lift, my weight really does seem rather insignificant. Still, I'm a little pissed at his, "I told you so" attitude, what with the glaring and underhanded comments.

"Why are you carrying me?" I huff indignantly.

"Because you're not supposed to put pressure on your knee," he replies automatically. "Besides, I'm the only one in here that can carry you up the stairs, aside from Haymitch of course, and I really don't think he'd want to haul you up the stairs."

"Definitely not," Haymitch agrees without looking up from the chess board. He makes a move, and says, "Check."

Peeta turns, me still in his arms, to look at the chess board. He studies it for a minute before smirking. He shifts me to one arm and moves a piece. "Checkmate."

We hear Haymitch spluttering all the way up the stairs.

Peeta sets me down on the bed and goes to my dresser, presumably to find me a change of clothes. He rifles through the drawers before he turns to look at me. "Exactly how many of my shirts do you have?"

I blush. "Probably too many," I admit and Peeta grins. He holds up two of his shirts, a blue one and a green one. "Which one do you want?"

"Blue," I answer automatically. It matches his eyes, so it's my favorite. He actually stole it back a few weeks ago, but I got it back earlier this week.

"It's my favorite shirt," he mutters as he tosses it at me.

I grin. "Mine too."

Peeta smiles. "Admittedly, you wear it better than I do."

Of course, this comment makes me blush and Peeta can't help but chuckle. "Do you want help?" he asks, motioning to my clothes.

"Depends," I say teasingly as I begin to pull my sweater over my head. "Will you be able to control yourself?"

Peeta grins and pointedly helps me out of the sweater, tossing it to the floor. His lips find mine, and I can't help but smile. "See?" I say when his lips move to my neck. "You're not controlling yourself."

"Oh, believe me, I am," Peeta assures me, making me laugh.

Once I'm dressed in his shirt and lying in bed, my knee propped up on a pillow, all the events of the day run through my mind. Bonnie and Twill. District 13. Details of the uprising in 8. The theory of the reused footage. I want to tell Peeta all of this, but I'm too afraid that the Capitol has bugged my house. It has sort of been an unspoken assumption between Peeta, Haymitch, and I. We always talk about more serious matters outside, away from the house.

So I'm forced to keep my recently learned knowledge to myself. Peeta lies beside me, his fingers laced behind his head. My mother came in a while ago, to check on me. She frowned at how comfortable Peeta and I were, how natural our situation seemed. Him lying next to me, completely relaxed. Me, in only his shirt, exposing more skin than she would deem proper. If only she knew that if we weren't at my house, and at his instead, Peeta would be shirtless and I'd probably be draped over his chest.

It's better that she doesn't know that, though. She manages not to make a comment, and I think it's a good thing Peeta removed his hand from my thigh only seconds before she came into the room. She had me take some pain killers and something else to help with the swelling. But I swear she gave Peeta a warning glare when she thought that I wasn't looking.

After a few more minutes of quiet, Peeta turns his head to face me. "I woke up and you were gone," he says.

I shrug. "I wake up all the time and you're not there," I say without thinking, but then I cringe. That came out wrong, much too accusatory. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Peeta forgives me instantly. "You're right. It's just . . . when I wake up and see you with me . . . I know that you're safe. This morning I didn't know."

I feel guilty. All of his nightmares are of losing me in some way, he told me once. I hate the thought of him waking up, worried about me, still halfway in his nightmare, and finding that I wasn't there. "I'm sorry," I apologize again.

Peeta props himself up on his elbow, lifting his free hand to sweep some errant strands of hair out of my eyes. "Don't be," he says. "Just tell me what made you feel the need to escape."

I sigh. "The big box of wedding dresses downstairs, approved by President Snow himself."

"Oh," Peeta says, his hand dropping back to his side as he rolls onto his back again. "I see."

I'm worried that he's misunderstood me. That I'm leading him to believe that I ran off into the woods because I was upset at the reminder of the wedding, which is technically true, but not for the reason I think he's supposing. He thinks that I don't want to marry him in the first place, which is _not_ true. Granted, I would have liked to have waited a few more years, but I'm not opposed to marrying him.

"It's not you," I try and explain. "I want to marry you, Peeta. I really do." Peeta turns his head to look at me, and I continue. "It's just . . . it's such a private, personal moment between us. Getting married. And I don't want it share it with the Capitol, just as a form of entertainment. I want it to be our moment. Just us."

Peeta smiles. "Maybe I can fix that," he says before kissing me softly.

When he pulls away, I look at him curiously. What can Peeta do to stop this? There's no going around a Capitol wedding. "What are you thinking?" I ask.

"It's a secret," he says, giving me a sense of déjà vu. It's exactly what he said to me before the Games, when I asked him what his plan was.

"What's your plan?" I ask and Peeta chuckles.

"I'm working it out as we speak," he says before grinning at me. "But I'm still not telling you. It's going to be a surprise."

A week of lying in bed proves to be maddening. The first few days aren't bad because my knee is still rather painful at the slightest movement. It doesn't really bother me lounging around in bed all day. But once the middle of the week hits, I begin to get restless. Peeta carries me downstairs just for a change of scenery, but after a few hours it's not enough before my cabin fever begins to get the better of me again.

It would be somewhat better if I were at Peeta's house and not stuck in mine. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother, and I love Prim to death, but it's hard to be in your room with your fiancée, who is admittedly extremely good looking and muscled, and _not_ be able to fully take advantage of this fact. Because, as Peeta often points out to me in amusement, between the two of us, I'm the vocal one. He teases me relentlessly about it, joking that people in town could probably hear me.

Around that point I typically hit him, playfully of course.

He still complains anyway.

However, one night when Peeta and I are downstairs, watching the television for news, they show something that takes my mind off of my hormonal distress. It's footage of the smoking ruins of District 13, the article referencing the Dark Days. I pay close attention to the screen and right as they cut to another story, I see the black and white wing of a mockingjay in the right-hand corner. I don't think much of it though, even if it proves Bonnie and Twill right, about the mockingjay at least. But it's a few nights later that my curiosity peaks. The reporter is talking about a graphite shortage in District 3, and they cut to the footage of District 13. Supposedly live, another reporter encased in a protective suit says that regrettably District 13 mines are still too toxic to approach. They cut back to the newsroom.

But not before I see the black and white flash of a mockingjay wing. They're reusing the footage. The reporter isn't in District 13. The editors just incorporated her into the old footage. She's not in District 13, which makes me wonder, what is?

* * *

**Ah, the question that must be answered. What is in District 13? Hmm . . .**

**And what could this secret plan of Peeta's be? **

**Okay, the next chapter is one of my favorites. It's nearly 5,000 words of pure fluff. Happy, sweet PK times are ahead. After all, it's the least they deserve before I put them through hell. See? I'm being nice. :)**

**So, the quote from the next chapter comes from (drumroll please) . . . Rye!**

**"Hey! What about Wonder Boy over there? Don't play favorites. It's not nice."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	17. Chapter 17

**************************A/N: Hey, guys! Not much time to write A/Ns this morning, so I'll get right down to it! Thank you so much (again) for the reviews! :)**

**************************Quote of the day comes from _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_.**

**************************"It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon." - Ron**

**************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."

* * *

Chapter 17

At the end of the month, my mother deems me well enough to put my full weight on my knee. It's stiff from disuse and twinges a little bit, but other than that I feel fairly okay. I'm anxious to go outside, ready to be anywhere but my bedroom. Staring at the same four walls for weeks will drive anyone insane. Maya is with me, trotting faithfully by my side as we step out onto the front porch, and I can't help but smile at the feeling of the sun on my face.

I go into the bakery, leaving Maya by the door, and I smile when I see Peeta behind the counter. He left early this morning, saying that he had something important to do. Of course, when I asked what was so important, he told me, wearing a cheeky smile, that it was a secret. He'd kissed me and left before I could scowl at his reply.

"How's it feel to walk around?" Peeta asks as he wipes his hands on a towel before throwing it over his shoulder.

"Fantastic," I reply as I sidle up to the counter, leaning toward him. "But I admit that I miss you carrying me around everywhere."

"Me too," Peeta admits. He looks like he's about to say more before Rye interrupts him.

"Eh, don't mind him sweetcheeks, he was just happy to show off his muscles for you," he says, waggling his eyebrows comically.

"It's not showing off," Peeta defends, looking at me. "You're light as a feather."

"Always the right thing to say to a woman," Chris says as he enters the bakery, and both Rye and Peeta glare at him.

"You're late."

"Where have you been?"

Chris looks at me. "See what I have to deal with?" he asks. "Pity me."

"Oh, working all day with Rye?" I grin. "Who wouldn't?"

"Hey, what about Wonder Boy over there?" Rye complains, tossing his head in Peeta's direction. "Don't play favorites. It's not nice."

"But he is my favorite," I say and Peeta grins triumphantly.

"But why?" Rye whines. "I am just as good looking."

I snort. "I can't say I agree."

"Oh, that's cold." Rye shakes his head, feigning hurt and rejection. "I'm leaving. You'll miss me."

"Not likely," I retort. "Peace and quiet would be a lovely thing to experience."

Rye grins. "See you later, sweetcheeks!" he calls before going back to the ovens.

Chris sighs, shaking his head. "Sometimes I worry about him," he says.

Peeta laughs. "Only sometimes?"

"All the time." Chris looks at me and then Peeta. "So are you going to get out of here or what? I've got you covered."

"You sure?" Peeta asks hesitantly, though he casts a hopeful glance at me. "I can stay . . ."

"Am I going to have to throw you out the door?" Chris interrupts with a smile. "Be a kid once and a while, if it's not too much trouble."

Peeta grins, tossing the dish towel onto the counter and untying his apron. "Thanks Chris," he says, giving his older brother a good-natured slap on the shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," Chris waves him off. "Go on. Get out of here."

Peeta and I reach for each other's hands at the same time, and he smiles at me before leading me out the door. Maya immediately hops up and begins to follow us. "So," Peeta says. "I have the day off. What do you want to do?"

"Hmm," I say. "Ideally, I'd venture off . . ." My words fade as I think of the woods that are barred to me now.

"We can go to the Meadow," Peeta suggests. "I want to build a snowman."

"You're kidding."

"Absolutely not."

"How old are you again?"

"Seventeen." Peeta flashes me his most charming grin. The one that shows his dimples and makes his eyes glint with that extra sparkle. I give in, unable to resist. After all, winter is coming to a close so this is probably the last chance he'll have to make a snowman.

"Fine," I huff and Peeta whoops in victory, only adding credence to my theory that boys will always be boys.

Together, we walk to the Meadow. There are remains of snowball fights and some snowmen, the children of the Seam having been here before us. However, they're in school so we have the entire Meadow to ourselves. "Okay," Peeta rubs his gloved hands together. "We need a plan."

"Why do you always need a plan?"

"Because I'm a planning kind of guy," he retorts without missing a beat.

My eyes narrow. "You're in an awfully good mood today," I say, sounding slightly suspicious.

"Because today is a great day," Peeta says, wrapping his arms around me. "You're free from medical house arrest. I've got you all to myself for the first time in a month. Your mother isn't glaring at me in warning whenever I enter your bedroom. And I'm about to build a snowman. It's a damn good day."

I laugh. "Okay then," I say. "What is the plan for building the snowman?"

Peeta's eyes gleam with a childish excitement. "I want to build a really big one. At least as tall as me."

"We better get started then."

And we do. I haven't made many snowmen in my life. In fact, the last snowman I made was with my father, and Prim was so little that we had to stop halfway through because she was getting too cold. I quickly remember how tedious snowman building is, at least in the beginning. I make a big snowball like I remember my father showing me, and then I begin the tiresome process of rolling it around on the ground, watching it slowly grow in size as it picks up layer after layer of snow. After about twenty minutes, I remember why it was so fun.

My snowball, which started out only a little bigger than my fist, is now taller than my knees, and it's getting too heavy for me to roll by myself, causing me to slip as I lose traction. Before I know it, I'm giggly with the effort it is taking to roll the humongous snowball, and Peeta abandons his behemoth snowball to help me with mine. He's laughing at my struggles as he helps me roll the snowball, the effort seeming disgustingly easy for him. "I hate you," I say, though the insult doesn't really have much weight because I'm still giggling. "Why do you have to be so strong?"

"I've got to keep you in love with me somehow," Peeta retorts and I snort.

"Yes," I agree. "Because I only want you for your body."

"Hence its pristine condition."

Both of us laugh, and after another minute or so, Peeta declares that my snowball is big enough. We roll it toward the one he was working on before he came to help me, and I gawk at its size. It comes up to my hip. I recognize a problem though. I look at my snowball. "How are we going to stack them?" I ask. "This thing weighs a ton."

"No it doesn't," Peeta waves me off before bending down and picking up the gigantic snowball at my feet and stacking it on top of the even bigger gigantic snowball.

Peeta huffs as he moves away, the only sign of exertion after lifting what must have been over a hundred pounds. I look at him. "You amaze me," I say, not only referring to his strength, but just him in general.

"Eh," Peeta waves me off, pulling me into his arms. "I don't hold a candle to you," he says before capturing my lips in a sweet kiss.

However, after a few seconds, the kiss goes from sweet to passionate. My wrap my arms around his neck, pressing us closer together. There's hardly any space between us and Peeta is holding me so tightly to him, that I can feel the pressure of his hands on my hips through the thick material of my jacket. We continue to kiss and my mind is blissfully blank, only able to comprehend that Peeta is kissing me and that I like it. A lot.

When we finally pull away, gasping for air and breathing hard, I feel that tension between us, the one that makes my stomach clench in anticipation and twist in nerves at the same time. I want to go further. Kissing is not enough, even the other, more intimate things we do is not enough for me anymore. Peeta must see something in my eyes because his darken ever so slightly. I think we could have probably stared at each other like that for hours if Maya hadn't chosen at that time to literally nudge us apart, as if she was our chaperone.

"She's an attention hog," Peeta mutters, looking down at her balefully.

Thankful that the tension has broken between us, at least for a moment, I carefully lower myself to one knee so that it's easier to pet her. "I'm finishing the snowman," Peeta says.

"I'll help you in a minute," I tell him, giving Maya the attention that she deserves, though admittedly we had a lot of bonding time over the past month. I didn't let her stay cooped up inside with me though. No need to make her suffer. Peeta let her out in the mornings and she'd typically be scratching at the door later that afternoon, ready to curl up at my feet by the fire.

Peeta and I finish the snowman within the hour, and like Peeta wished, it's just as tall as he is. We both stand back and admire our work. Peeta throws an arm around my shoulders. "We're good," he says with satisfaction.

"This thing is a monster," I say. "What if it falls over?"

"It will not do such a thing," Peeta denies adamantly. "Frosty wouldn't do that to me."

I raise my eyebrows. "Frosty? You named it?"

"Oh, come on." Peeta looks at me in disbelief. "Frosty the Snowman? Tell me you've heard of Frosty."

I stare at him blankly.

Peeta is in denial. "Come on, think about it," he encourages, and then he starts to sing. "Frosty, the snowman was a jolly happy soul. With a corncob pipe and a button nose and two eyes made out of coal?"

I'm laughing. Mainly because Peeta couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but it's so cute I can't help but smile. "Not ringing a bell."

Peeta stares at me, placing a hand on each of my shoulders. "Don't worry, Katniss," he says, somehow able to look and sound serious. "I will teach you every verse."

"Oh, I believe you," I say with a smile. "But first, I need to teach you something."

"What?"

In a lightning quick move that he isn't expecting, I smear a snowball in his face. I'd surreptitiously gathered it while he'd been adding the head to the snowman. Peeta's face is priceless. His eyes are closed, his mouth set in a funny grimace. Comically, he spits out the snow that got into his mouth, and finally opens his eyes, blinking against the snow that is clinging to his impossibly long, blonde eyelashes.

"You, my love, have just started a war," he says, his eyes glinting with mischief.

I smile innocently at him. "Too bad you're going to lose."

"We shall see. I warn you, I have two older brothers that taught me the art of the snowball fight," Peeta smirks.

"Oh yeah?" I tease, stepping closer to him, my lips at his ear. "Then try to catch me."

I shove him away from me, laughing as he stumbles, only just managing to catch himself and keep from falling.

Thus, begins the most epic snowball fight ever.

I have won the Hunger Games, the ultimate test of endurance, strength, and cunning—not to mention a whole lot of luck. You would think that I would be prepared for the rigors of a simple snowball fight. Oh, how wrong I was. Peeta was not lying when he said he knew the art of the snowball fight. Within minutes, he has a fort made, and no matter how many insults of cowardice that I yell at him, he refuses to leave his little sanctuary.

This prompts me to have to be sneaky. I scurry from place to place, trying to sneak up on him. I'm able to lob a snowball that hits him right in the back of the head. We continue this little game of hide and seek until Peeta comes out, his hands held high in surrender.

Thinking that I've won, I foolishly sidle up to him, a smug smile on my face. Which he promptly removes when he lunges forward, sweeps me off my feet, and makes us both fall back into the snow. Though he makes sure that I land on top of him, he quickly rolls so that he's pinned me to the ground—where he immediately smears my face with snow.

I know that I can't escape his hold. Not outright anyway, but I have a plan. The only reason it will work is because it's Peeta and for some reason he loves me. So when I lean up and capture his lips in a heated kiss that catches him completely off guard, it's safe to say that his hold relaxes just a little bit.

I promptly flip us over, give him one last peck, and then leap off him, running toward the opposite end of the Meadow. "That's cheating!" Peeta calls after me.

Laughing, I turn around. "No it's not!"

This prompts an all-out free for all. Snow flies in all directions. The once pristine looking Meadow, blanketed in a relatively smooth coat of snow, is basically trampled ruins. Deep trenches where you can almost see the grass cut through the fine white powder. Huge mounds of snow from hastily constructed forts make the ground uneven. Then, of course, there's Frosty, dominating the entire scene. Like he conquered it all.

I don't know for how long Peeta and I toss snow at each other, but when he finally manages to tackle me to the ground (gently of course), we both lay there, breathing hard. My head lands heavily on his chest. "I still say I won," I say after a minute and Peeta laughs.

"Fine," he says, relenting. "You win."

"I do love it when I win," I say smugly, propping myself up so I can see his face. "Especially at your expense."

"Don't I know it."

"At least you admit defeat gracefully," I can't help but tease.

"I don't know if I really lost," Peeta says looking at me with a playful smirk that I rarely get to see. "You ended up on top of me. That's a win."

I don't have time to give an indignant reply before he's kissing me, and I forget whatever witty retort I had. We break away, finally relenting to our mutual need for oxygen, and Peeta sighs contentedly. We continue to lie in the snow, but now that we're not running around the cold is beginning to get to me. Just when I'm about to say something, Peeta speaks. "I don't know about you, but I can't feel my toes."

I laugh. "Sitting in front of a fire would be nice."

Peeta and I get to our feet, and I laugh when he shakes out his hair, melted snow flying everywhere. We begin walking back toward town, and I look over my shoulder. "Come on, Maya!" I call, causing her head to pop up. During the snowball fight, she'd tried chasing us around, but eventually she just went chasing after snowballs that missed their mark.

She quickly trots up next to us, and together, the three of us make our way back through town. When we pass the bakery, I see Chris looking out the window. He sees us and then laughs, giving us a wave before returning to work.

When we get to Peeta's house, trudging up the stairs to his bedroom, I'm shivering. All the snow that was clinging to me has melted, and I'm soaked to the bone. I begin pulling off clothes and tossing them onto the floor. It's a testament to how cold Peeta is that he doesn't comment at all about my state of undress, or the fact that he doesn't 'make a move.' Once I'm in dry, warm clothes, I feel a lot better. I take my hair out of its braid, hoping that it will dry quicker if it's hanging loose.

Peeta went downstairs a few minutes ago, presumably to start a fire. And when I walk into the living room, I find that he's already coaxed a fire to life and it's slowly building. He's laid out a thick blanket in front of the fireplace, a corner of which is already occupied by Maya. Peeta is sitting in the middle, and he smiles when he sees me. He pulls me down to him, and I sit between his legs. Instantly his arms are around me and I can't help but smile, even if I still can't feel my toes.

"That was fun," I say after a while.

Peeta sweeps my hair over my shoulder so that he can kiss my neck. "Most fun I've had in a while," he admits. "What with everything going on."

His statement is just a mere reference to everything that seems to have been going horribly wrong for us. President Snow and his threats. The uprisings. The wedding. And then there's the upcoming Quarter Quell, our first year as mentors, that goes unspoken between us.

"Yeah," I agree before glancing up at the clock on the wall. It's late afternoon. I hadn't realized just how much time we'd spent in the snow, and I haven't eaten since this morning. "You hungry?"

Peeta chuckles, but I detect a hint of nervousness in his voice. Curious, I glance over my shoulder to look at him, but he's not looking at me. He's turned away from me, reaching back behind him to grab a plate I hadn't noticed off the coffee table. It's a single loaf of bread, seemingly insignificant—only it's not. At all.

"Is that . . ." I trail off as Peeta sets the plate of bread beside us.

"The same kind of bread I gave you that night in the rain?" Peeta finishes for me with a small smile. "Yeah."

"This is why you left so early this morning," I realize.

"Well, I couldn't have you coming into the kitchen," he says. "It would've ruined the surprise."

There's something that I'm missing, some piece of the puzzle that I don't have. "So why the surprise?"

Peeta looks nervous again, and I can't help but think he looks adorable. His eyes meet mine, looking hesitant, and yet hopeful. "Remember the day you twisted your knee?" he asks me. "And you told me why you went into the woods?"

The crate of wedding dresses. "Yeah."

"And remember when you said that you wanted our wedding to just be about us?" he continues. "That you wanted it to be our moment, and not something contrived by the Capitol?"

My heart has begun to race, my stomach twisting into knots. "And you said you could fix it," I say. My eyes settle on the bread, and then the fire. It all clicks. "You want to have a toasting?"

It's a marriage ritual that we have here in District 12. Most people don't really consider you married until you have a toasting, even if you have the slip of paper from the Justice Building saying that you're legally wed. But, really, what does a piece of paper matter?

A toasting is simple really. The bride and groom will each toast a piece of bread over the first fire they make in their home. Then, they'll feed the toasted bread to each other. It's as simple as that, and yet when I think of having a private toasting with Peeta, something that's just us, this simple ritual takes on a whole new meaning.

"Well . . ." Peeta's nervousness really begins to shine through, and I fight a smile. "I-If you want . . . I mean, we don't, um, have to, necessarily. I just, I thought—"

I can't help it. I laugh. A stammering Peeta is just too cute. I turn in his embrace to face him fully and place a sweet kiss on his lips. When I pull away, I'm smiling. "It's a brilliant idea," I tell him. "Let's toast some bread."

Peeta grins at me. "You were just going to let me keep stuttering, weren't you?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

He rolls his eyes, but nonetheless slices two pieces of bread. Cautiously, we each hold our pieces of bread over the fire until they're toasted. We look at each other, and for a moment we just stare. I can't believe that I'm at this point. Me. Katniss Everdeen. I'm about to technically, in a way, marry Peeta Mellark, my boy with the bread. In a single year, my world has been tossed upside down. And oddly enough, however wrong everything else is in my new life, Peeta is the one thing that has been irrevocably _right_. He convinced me that love was worth the risk. He's coaxed emotions that I didn't know I had to the surface and taught me to embrace them. This boy in front of me has changed my life so irreversibly that I know I'll never be able to go back to the way I was. And, thinking about it, I really don't want to be who I was. Because if was, then I wouldn't have _this_. I wouldn't have _him_.

Peeta Mellark.

I smile. He smiles. And it seems to break the trance we're in. I take a bite from his piece of bread and he takes a bite from mine. It doesn't last more than ten seconds, but in those ten seconds, I've gone from being Katniss Everdeen to Katniss Mellark.

It's actually making me kind of giddy.

Before I really know what I'm doing, I'm kissing him. My arms are around his neck, my hands tangled in his hair. Peeta is slightly surprised by my affectionate onslaught, but he quickly catches up to where I am. His hands begin tracing my every curve, and I can't help the sigh that escapes me. I feel his tongue trace my bottom lip, asking for entry, and I don't hesitate to open my mouth to him. For some reason, this feels like the most sensual kiss we've ever shared as our tongues begin a dance that both of us have perfected by now.

But it's not until I feel Peeta's hand slip under my shirt, his calloused fingers touching my bare skin, that the significance of this moment fully hits me. Peeta and I are married.

And it's our wedding night.

I freeze in Peeta's arms at this thought, and he breaks the kiss, looking up at me, his blue eyes darkened with desire. For me. It's our wedding night. I'm going to have sex with Peeta.

Oh my . . .

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks, his voice husky, causing my nerves to twist in anticipation and excitement.

"Um . . . " I try to think of how to say this. "Have you . . . though about, um, tonight?" I ask. "You know, because, um . . ." Why is this so difficult to say? Why am I so nervous? "It's our wedding night."

Realization dawns in Peeta's eyes. "Oh." He looks nervous, too. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?"

It's like the thought never occurred to him. "You seriously didn't think about this?"

Peeta raises his eyebrows. "Katniss, I think about making love to you all the time," he admits bluntly, though he's wearing a bright smile. I blush, burying my face into his neck, and he laughs. "I do." He's completely unashamed. "I just, um, didn't actually think about this . . . I was just focusing on the toasting. Not, uh, what would happen afterwards."

"That's very un-guy like of you," I tell him honestly.

"So sue me," Peeta replies. "I am not most guys."

I lift my head from the crook of his neck to look at him. "No," I agree, unable to keep from running a hand through his hair. "You are definitely not like most guys. You're better."

For once, it's Peeta's turn to blush, and I can't help but smile. "Do you want to, Katniss?" he asks quietly. "I'm fine with waiting. I don't want to do anything you'll regret."

"Peeta." His name escapes me in a whisper. "I could never regret making love with you."

I'm blushing profusely, but I don't care. The look in Peeta's eyes is worth all the embarrassment my admission caused me. His hands cradle my face. "I love you," he says softly, a shyness to his tone that I haven't heard in a while. "I really do."

"I know," I say with a smile. "I love you, too."

It's almost like a spell. Like a force is drawing us together, because our lips meet and I honestly don't remember leaning forward. I don't know how my hands end up in his hair, or how suddenly Peeta is on his feet, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he maneuvers us toward the bedroom. Peeta has to stop halfway up the stairs, and I assume it's because he can't concentrate enough to put one foot in front of the other.

He presses me into the wall, kissing me with an unrestrained passion that's making me see stars. I feel his fingertips playing with the hem of my sweater, and in the next second it's being pulled over my head, and tossed somewhere behind him. The cool air feels wonderful on my overheated skin.

We're moving again, and this time we make it to the hallway before Peeta has to stop again. Personally, I'm marveling at his strength and coordination, because I have no idea how he managed to navigate those stairs. However, there is one problem. I am shirtless and he is not.

I unwrap my legs from his waist, and Peeta's hands grip my hips as he sets me on my feet. My hands immediately snake under his shirt and I smile into our kiss when I feel his abdominals clench. I tug on the end of his shirt, and he breaks the kiss only long enough for him to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. My hands are instantly exploring the newly revealed skin, and I hear Peeta sigh before he claims my mouth once more.

By now, we've made it to the bedroom. Peeta walks me backwards until I feel the back of my knees hit the bed. I sit down, and slowly, Peeta and I make our way to the head of the bed, still kissing, until my hair fans out over a pillow. And suddenly, everything gets real. I'm really about to do this. _We're_ really about to do this. Some mild panic must show in my eyes, because Peeta gives me a reassuring smile before he's kissing me again. It's sweet and slow and so incredibly _loving_. I relax almost instantly, and I'm wondering what I have to be nervous about. It's just Peeta; just me and Peeta.

It continues on like this. Slow, loving, and gentle. Clothes are shed, and Peeta seems to be everywhere. That's all my senses are able to compute. Peeta. My world is Peeta; it's just him and me. His hands and lips caress and love every inch of me, and the sheer amount of tenderness he's showing is almost too much for me to handle. My heart already feels like it's going to explode. I don't know how much more love I can take. It's not normal to feel this much, is it?

Peeta brings me over the edge once before he lines up at my entrance, and suddenly, he's the one who looks nervous and slightly panicked. "Are you sure?" he asks. "Because if you want—"

I interrupt him with a kiss. "I want this, Peeta," I whisper against his lips, before pulling back to look him in the eyes. "I want you." I give him another kiss. "I want you to make love to me."

And he does, sending me into a state of bliss that I never want to end.

* * *

**Okay, now everybody cheer and dance around happily. *cue happy dancing***

**Yep, I have now joined the ranks of FF authors who have written PK's first time. Woo hoo! It was fun. ;)**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from Peeta!**

**"Tell me this is real."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	18. Chapter 18

**************************A/N: Hey guys! I've passed 900! That. Is. Epic.**

**************************So glad that everyone liked the last chapter. Fluffiness was deserved, I think, but of course, it can't last for long! Little bit of drama coming up. Let's see how things go!**

**************************Quote of the day comes from the _A-Team_.**

**************************"Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!" - Murdock**

**************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"

* * *

Chapter 18

I'm smiling before my eyes even open. I keep my lids closed, not wanting the reality of waking up just yet. The night before plays in my mind over and over. Peeta and I made love, and it was perfect. Since I refuse to open my eyes, I let my other senses work for me. My head rests on Peeta's chest, as always, and I take comfort in the sound of his steady heartbeat. His skin is warm, and the smell of cinnamon clings to him.

Replays of last night begin to flit through my mind once more, and my smile brightens. I feel oddly girly right now, lying next to Peeta, wrapped in his strong arms like always. Yet, this morning, his embrace makes me feel even safer, countering the odd sense of vulnerability that I feel. I can't help but feel closer to Peeta than ever before, and it surprises me. Peeta and I share a closeness that few people know or understand. It comes from surviving the Hunger Games together, relying on each other and trusting each other with our lives. That closeness only intensified after the Games, as our love continued to grow. But now, after making love with Peeta, I feel a new strength to our bond that I didn't know was possible. Perhaps it's because there's nothing between us now. I have nothing to hold back. I've given him my heart, body, and soul.

Sex was never something that I thought about before Peeta. Hell, I didn't know I had hormones until Peeta. After all, what use were they to my survival, to Prim's? At that time, every thought I had revolved around Prim and how I would protect her from this harsh world. Romantic relationships meant nothing to me. The things that romantic relationships led to meant nothing to me. Sex. Marriage. Kids. I belittled them in my mind until they became insignificant.

And then Peeta began knocking at the doors to my heart.

Emotions and feelings I'd forgotten or hadn't even known existed began to surface, and I remember being terrified of them. These strange feelings that made me blush. The flutter in my stomach. The warmth in my chest. So, so strange. It's crazy to think that I'm where I am now. Before, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I would give my virginity to anyone, let alone Peeta Mellark. And here I am now, married to him, waking up after giving him all of me.

Crazy . . . but wonderful.

My blissful, reflective haze is beginning to lift, at least marginally, and I finally open my eyes. Oddly enough, it's this action that suddenly makes me feel the aches in my body—in places I really didn't know were capable of aching. Walking is going to be a little odd.

But my smile refuses to fade. In fact, the funny thought makes me giggle.

I turn my head just slightly so that I can plant a kiss on Peeta's chest. However, I find that I can't resist, and that one kiss turns into a trail of kisses as my lips take a very circuitous route to meet his own. I linger at the crook of his neck, sucking gently, and just as I expected, Peeta begins to stir. My hand slides up from his waist to his chest, and I suppress a smile at his already accelerating heartbeat. By the time I finally reach his lips, sleepy, yet ridiculously happy blue eyes are staring at me. I kiss him softly once before pulling away. "Good morning," Peeta hums with a smile, his fingertips beginning to trace random patterns on my back.

I can't control the contented sigh that escapes me. "Good morning."

We're quiet for a few minutes, basking in the glory of the morning after. My head rests on his chest, and I listen to his heartbeat, slow and steady. Occasionally, my fingertips will ghost over his skin, seeming to have a mind of their own. Peeta is so still and relaxed beneath me, that I'd think he'd fallen asleep if it weren't for the random patterns he continues to trace on my back. The action is rather relaxing.

After a significant amount of silence, I finally lift my head from his chest to look at him. He smiles softly at me, a hand coming up to caress my face, his fingertips running along my cheekbone. I can't help but lean into his touch.

"So," I say, breaking the silence, though my voice is still soft. "Was it worth the wait?"

"God, yes." Peeta's reply is so emphatic and the grin that immediately threatens to split his face in two causes me to laugh. Peeta shifts so that we're lying on our sides, facing each other. "If I could, I would make love to you every second for the rest of my life."

I can't help but blush. "Peeta," I say, an embarrassed laugh escaping me. "Why do you say stuff like that?"

"Because when you blush, you're even more beautiful," he replies automatically and I'm just about ready to hide completely under the covers. I settle for hiding my face in his chest instead.

"Katniss." Peeta's voice is so soft and loving, reminding me of the way he'd whispered my name so many times last night. I can't help but look up at him. "Thank you," he says. "For trusting me. For making last night the best night of my life."

I never know what to say when he says these things, these deep, meaningful, heartfelt things. So, I kiss him, giving me extra time to think. "I've never felt so loved. You were perfect."

This time it's Peeta's turn to blush, and I can't help but smile a little, because I know I'm blushing too. "So were you," he replies, giving me a sweet kiss.

We pull away and fall into another bout of silence again, though neither of us mind. Occasionally, his hands will wander, caressing my skin. Our kisses are languid and slow. I've never felt so completely relaxed and content, and I'm afraid to leave the bed for fear that this feeling will leave me. This bed has become an even greater escape from the real world. The real world that's full of corruption and uprisings and sparks of rebellion that threatens to take away everything I love. It's much nicer to stay in bed with Peeta, in our blissed-out bubble, than face this reality.

This time it's Peeta who breaks the silence. He glances at his bedside table, more specifically the box of condoms resting on top of it. "I'm going to have to thank Rye, again," he says and I smile.

"I'll thank him with you," I say and Peeta laughs. "But, really, what kind of birthday gift is that?"

"The kind you get from your older brother," Peeta replies, before frowning. "Though I really wish I could have avoided the sex talk."

I snort. "Rye gave you a sex talk?"

"On my birthday," Peeta complains. "And he was actually serious. Rye. Serious. It was freaking me out."

I laugh. "Did I tell you about the sex talk my mom tried giving me?"

Peeta smiles. "No. I can't imagine how that would have gone."

"She thought we were already sleeping together—"

"—technically we were—"

"She wasn't being technical," I give him a mild glare that he knows holds no heat. "And then she proceeded to tell me that I was not to sleep with you anymore."

Peeta frowns. "When was this?"

"The night of the Harvest Festival," I reply.

"But that was the night that we almost—"

"Believe me, the irony did not escape my notice."

Peeta begins running a hand through my hair. "So," he says. "Obviously you did not do what your mother asked."

"Of course not," I tell him. "I told her that I was sleeping with you every night and there was nothing she could do about it."

Peeta laughs. "Did you really?"

"Yeah," I say, before a blush colors my cheeks. "I told her that nothing was going to keep me away from you. We needed each other."

"I'll always need you," Peeta says softly, his eyes boring into mine, emphasizing his sincerity. His hand cups the back of my neck and he caresses my cheek with his thumb. I can't help but turn my head slightly and kiss his wrist, completely leaning into his touch.

"Tell me this is real." My eyes meet his, and I'm actually surprised to see a hint of anxiety in his eyes. They're almost pleading. "Tell me that all of this is real. Last night. You and me. Everything."

"It's real," I assure him, trying to assuage this strange surge of anxiety that he feels. I take his hand from my neck and place it over my heart. "Feel that?" I ask. "Real."

Peeta smiles faintly. "It's just this all feels like a dream," he tries to explain. "I've been in love with you for so long. It's a lot of time to dream of what could be. I guess I'm trying to cope with what is. Reality. And that's really hard to do, considering that reality far surpasses any dream I've ever had."

I simply stare at him, completely awed into silence. Sometimes I forget that in many ways, everything that I'm experiencing is just as new to Peeta as it is to me. Whereas I never thought I'd ever have love, Peeta never thought that he'd ever have me. I'd spent all my time thinking of what I never wanted. He'd spent all of his time thinking of what he always wanted. He must be just as shocked that we're where we are as I am.

"I don't know what to say," I admit, frowning slightly.

"You don't have to say anything," he replies with an easy smile. "Just be here with me. Always."

"Literally?" I can't help but tease. "Because, you know, eventually we _will_ have to get up."

Peeta glances toward the clock on his nightstand. It's seven in the morning, which is actually kind of late for the both of us, who are usually up before six; Peeta because he's so used to getting up early to work at the bakery, and me because I'm used to hunting.

"Do we have to?" Peeta asks with a mischievous smile, causing my attention to focus on him completely, especially when he shifts so that he's lying on top of me, burying his face into the crook of my neck and beginning to gently nip and suck at the tender flesh. Though he supports almost all of his weight on his forearms, I still feel every inch of him against me, and I momentarily debate overlooking the soreness in my body for another round love making. "I mean, really, would staying in bed be a bad thing?" he whispers against the skin of my neck, and I can't help but sigh.

"No," I admit. Cautiously, I stretch my body, wincing a little at the soreness, though Peeta groans because my movements only pressed myself further against him. "But I don't think I can handle any more."

Peeta lifts his head so that he can see my face, and quickly deduces my meaning. As if my blush wasn't enough of a giveaway. "Oh," he says, looking slightly guilty. "Sorry . . . want me to run you a bath?"

I can't help but smile. What did I do to deserve this boy? "That'd be nice," I say softly, still slightly embarrassed.

Peeta grins, trying to set me at ease no doubt. He gives me a quick peck on the lips before getting out of bed, not even bothering with putting on any clothes, and walking into the bathroom. I hear the water running the next second. Peeta doesn't come back out, so I assume he's waiting for me. With a sigh, I sit up and get out of bed. My first few steps are a little awkward, and I can't help but laugh softly to myself.

I was right. Walking _is_ a little odd.

When I enter the bathroom, I find that Peeta is already stretched out in the bath that was supposedly meant for me. I raise an eyebrow in question, and Peeta gives me a not so innocent grin. "What?" he questions. "You know you were going to invite me in anyway."

"And what if I wasn't?" I reply quickly, even though he's right. "What if I wanted the tub all to myself?"

"I would have convinced you otherwise."

"Oh, really?" A teasing smile plays at my lips. "And how would you have 'convinced me'?"

The cockiest grin I've ever seen appears on Peeta's face, and I don't know whether I want to blush or slap him. "You can always hop in here and find out."

I blush and I'm surprised that I'm actually fighting embarrassment. While I have most definitely changed, in many ways both in thinking and in general, Peeta has too, though his changes are much more subtle. For example, he would always walk tall, confident, but now there's an extra spring in his step. His aura, while still gentle and kind, now has an added strength to it, a more commanding presence.

This tends to pose a little problem, because certain things that he would have _never_ dared to say or allude to eight months ago seem to slip easily from his lips now. It continually surprises me, but the fact is that Peeta can be _sexy_. It's not that I never thought he wasn't good-looking, because I admit he's handsome, and he has muscles that I love to trace with my fingertips, but I've simply known him as the sweet, kind, gentle Peeta for so long . . . sexy, charming, bold Peeta I'm still getting used to.

Not that I really mind. In fact, I really, really, like this new side of Peeta. I simply seem to blush constantly when he decides to turn on the charm. It's not helping that I've only just now realized I've been standing in front of him, stark naked, blushing like mad, for a solid two minutes. Oh, great.

And judging by the grin that's still on his face, he knows exactly what he's doing to me. Damn him.

"Well are you just going to stand there?" he asks, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "We're wasting water here."

He's right. The water has been running this entire time, and the tub his already more than halfway full. Feigning indifference, I scoff, roll my eyes, and step into the tub, settling between his legs so that my back rests against his chest. His arms immediately snake around my waist and I rest my arms on top of his. I try to keep up my mask of nonchalance, but Peeta ruins it when he lifts his foot out of the water and then uses his toes to turn off the faucet.

I can't stop the short burst of laughter that escapes my lips. "Hey, don't laugh at me," he whines dramatically. "That was very dexterous."

"Impressive," I mock. "I'm blown away by your many talents."

I feel Peeta's lips on my shoulder. "You should be."

I relax fully against him, letting my head rest against his chest, and turning my face so that it's buried into the crook of his neck. The sigh that escapes me is completely involuntary and I feel my lids beginning to drift closed again. I have never felt more relaxed than I do this morning.

"How are you feeling?" Peeta asks softly.

I hum contentedly. "Better."

"Good."

Peeta grabs the soap and a washcloth and begins to wash every single inch of my skin. I feel like I'm flying. I've never felt so . . . _light_. Relaxed. Content. No worries. Just living in the moment and soaking it up, hoping it never ends . . .

So, naturally, considering my luck, it's only expected for my bliss to be rudely interrupted by barbarous thoughts that have been lurking in the back of my mind for a month. Peeta says something, I don't even catch it all, but I hear the word _mockingjay_ and it sends my mind back a month ago in the woods, meeting Bonnie and Twill, the escapees from the riotous District 8.

I haven't told anyone about what they told me. About their uprising, or about their belief in the existence of District 13, a district that everyone else believes was wiped off the map by the Capitol during the Dark Days. The mysterious mockingjay . . . just a glimpse of a black and white wing in the top right hand corner of the television whenever they show footage of District 13 . . .

District 13 might not be secretly alive and thriving underground, safe from the Capitol, but one thing was certain—the Capitol _was_ reusing the footage, only adding in the supposedly 'live' reporter. This fact, while admittedly small in comparison to everything else, was enough to peak my curiosity. It was enough to make me wonder . . . what _is_ in District 13?

While Peeta rinses the shampoo out of my hair, I contemplate the best way to pop our blissed-out bubble. Regrettably, no wondrous ideas come to me, and I settle for my old stand-by—bluntness. No sugarcoating. None of that. Just cold, harsh truth.

Well, maybe I'll ease into it a little . . .

"Peeta," I say as casually as I can. He merely hums in reply, distracted by my soapy hands that are running over his chest. I mean, _he_ washed _me_. It's only fair that I return the favor. Besides, how can I deny myself the opportunity? Tracing every line of muscle that's so wonderfully defined . . .

Focus Katniss!

My momentary distraction has caused Peeta to open his eyes so he can see my face. By the way his brows furrow ever so slightly, I know that he realizes something's not quite right. "What is it?" he asks.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second. "Um . . . I may not have told you everything that happened that day in the woods."

Peeta's eyes narrow. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah." My eyes dart around the room, as if something will pop out of the walls and help me with my explanation. I know that Peeta's not mad at me per say . . . more suspicious than anything else. Or maybe that's not the word. Cautious. Yes, that's a better word.

He sighs heavily, as if accepting that the mood is ruined, which it is. Consider our blissed-out bubble popped. "Just tell me," he says in defeat, and I frown guiltily because I hate to slap reality in his face like this, but I need to tell him.

"When I was out in the woods, I went to lake," I begin. "But when I got there I ran into two people in Peacekeeper's uniforms." Peeta's eyes widen and I hurry to add, "They weren't really Peacekeepers. They'd stolen the uniforms. They were from District 8, Peeta." My voice is a whisper by the time I finish, and Peeta is looking at me intently, his blue eyes no longer dazed and relaxed, but bright and alert.

So I tell him everything. All about the uprising that was organized in District 8. How they'd been specific in their timing, starting the riot during Peeta's onstage proposal in the Capitol, so that they all had a chance to be in the square without raising suspicion. When I get to the part about District 13, Peeta's eyes narrow and I know that he wants to contradict me, but he keeps quiet and lets me finish. By the time I've explained about the mockingjay and the Capitol reusing the footage of the smoking ruins of District 13, Peeta's hold has tightened on me, though I doubt he even realizes it. When I tell him about the cracker, the one that Bonnie and Twill carried, stamped with a mockingjay, saying that it meant that they were on my side, Peeta is tense and wary.

"Well." Peeta exhales loudly. "That's definitely a mood killer."

I blanch. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault," he says, automatically trying to assuage my guilt. "I'm glad you told me. I needed to know."

"I wanted to tell you sooner," I say honestly. "I just never really had a chance. Being cooped up in my house for the past month, with mom and Prim around." It's not that I didn't trust my family, well . . . I trusted Prim more than my mother, but still. I simply hadn't wanted to risk my words being overheard. I don't want to burden them.

Peeta nods in understanding, and I know that his mind is turning over this new information I've given him. He and Haymitch are actually a lot alike in this way—very analytical. Whereas, I tend to simply take things as they seem and just wing it.

By now, the water in the tub is more cool than warm, so I wring out my hair and step out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy towel around myself. I hear Peeta getting out of the water behind me as I make my way back into the bedroom. Securing the towel under my arms, I begin to rifle through my clothes that I keep in Peeta's dresser. And honestly, I might as well move in my entire wardrobe because more than half of it is already in Peeta's house. I'll talk to him about that later. Or I could always dump out his clothes and replace them with mine and just call it a done deal.

It'd be worth it just to see his outraged face, but I manage to stifle the laugh that threatens to escape me at the mental picture.

I throw on the first clothes that I touch, which happen to be one of Peeta's t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that I know are his because I have to roll the waistband a handful of times, and I still can't see my feet. I know that I must look like a dwarf because let's face it facts, when you put a five foot four, one hundred and five pound girl in a six foot, two hundred pound guy's clothes, she's going to look pretty funny.

Which is why Peeta laughs when he sees me.

As long as we're being childish, I stick my tongue out at him.

I ignore him as he gets dressed, hopping onto the bed and folding my legs beneath me. I take the hair tie off the nightstand and quickly braid my hair. The bed sinks beside me and I glance in his direction, and I immediately scowl.

"What?" Peeta asks innocently. "Is there something bothering you, Katniss?"

"No." I say resolutely, forcing myself to stare only into his eyes and not let them drift to his torso, which is gloriously bare and enticing. Damn him. It does not help that his jeans hang low on his hips.

This is one of the few times I curse going against my previously self imposed edict of relationship nonexistence. Peeta can be far too distracting. What with the sun-kissed skin, and the broad chest, and the deliciously toned abdominals . . .

Focus Katniss! Gah, what has sex done to me? Did I ogle this much before?

Nope.

Weird.

After a minute's pause, I'm surprised Peeta hasn't tossed back a witty retort, so I meet his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Peeta's lying flat on his back beside me, one hand cupped behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. You'd probably think he was posing, trying to be alluring or something, but I know for a fact he's not. There's no twinkle in his eye that tells me so. Instead, they're troubled.

"Just thinking," he says. Ha, understatement. "About what you said."

District 13.

"Do you think . . ." I trail off uncertainly. "I mean, do you think that maybe . . .?"

I really don't want to hope. The hope that the existence of a secretly thriving District 13 is real is much too tempting, if I'll only realize later that it's a complete lie. But I can't deny that the thought of a refuge, a place to take my family away from the harm of the Capitol, away from the danger . . . it's enticing.

"It seems too good to be true," Peeta sighs. "But that's not what I'm worried about."

My brows furrow. "What is, then? The Districts?"

Is he more worried about the uprisings? I haven't heard anything about District 3 or District 4, the two districts that the Capitol men we eavesdropped on were wary about. Is Peeta worried about the threat of President Snow looming over our heads because we're the spark that gave rise to the fire? A fire that's slowly growing out of control?

"No," he admits. His eyes bore into mine. "I'm worried about you."

_Well, that's kind of normal_, I think. "You always worry about me."

"Not always," Peeta denies. "Just lately." I scoff, but Peeta ignores my expression and continues. "I'm thinking about that cracker, the one with the mockingjay."

"What about it?"

"It's your symbol Katniss," he tells me, anxiety creeping into his voice that's suddenly become a whisper. "They said that it means that they're on your side. The rebels are on your side. I'm afraid you're becoming a symbol in this whole mess. Say that this rebellion actually succeeds, say another war begins; the rebels will be looking for leaders. Who better than the girl who gave them hope, which gave them the courage to fight?"

I'm wondering if this is really as bad as Peeta seems to think it is. Why wouldn't I want to be a part of the war, if it came to that? I support the rebels. My loathing for the Capitol and their control of me fuels my need to rebel. The need to protect those I love. Would it really be so bad? I'd fight. I _want_ to fight.

Peeta must see something in my expression because he groans and closes his eyes briefly, like in a weary acceptance. "And I'm worried that you won't see it as a problem," he says, confirming my thoughts. "Which, obviously, you don't."

I feel my anger rise. "Don't you want to fight?" I hiss, keeping my voice low. It's dangerous to talk about these things in the house because it might be bugged by the Capitol, but so far we haven't really said anything too incriminating. I doubt it would surprise Snow in the slightest.

"I don't like fighting," Peeta mutters. "All it does is tear people apart."

"Well for someone who doesn't like fighting, you're awfully good at it," I retort and Peeta glares at me.

"Just because I don't like fighting, doesn't mean that I can't," he says lowly before getting out of bed to stand away from me.

Oh, I feel a real argument brewing.

A frustrated growl escapes my lips and I hop from the bed to stand on my feet too, right in front of him. If he wants a confrontation, he's going to get one. I'm almost expecting thunder and lightning to start clashing in the sky, with big black storm clouds rolling in, carrying buckets of furious rain.

"Look at what the Capitol is doing to us," I tell him, my voice a heated whisper. I wish we were outside so I could yell at him properly. I don't have to worry about listening devices out there. "They're controlling our lives, Peeta, and no one tells me how to live. No one. I'm sick and tired of feeling like a puppet, having my strings pulled every which way just to suit Snow's needs!"

Peeta's eyes flash in anger, his expression contorting into a hard mask of stone. "You know I feel the same way!" he hisses back at me. "I've said that since the beginning! I'm sick of being a piece of their games, you know that!"

"Then why don't you try to win?" I reply furiously.

"Because I don't want to win this game if I can't play by my own rules!" he growls. "I'm not naïve, Katniss. There might be a war, but people are going to die on _both_ sides. Some will be innocent, and some won't, on _both_ sides. In war everything is black and white, and that tears people apart. You need to have a shade of grey. You need a medium."

"This isn't something you paint, Peeta! It's not a picture. This is real. It's not still. It's moving. You're saying that you want to overthrow the Capitol, but you're just too cowardly to actually do something about it!"

I know the moment the words leave my mouth that I've gone too far. I can practically feel Peeta closing himself off to me, and it makes my heart wrench painfully, more painfully that it ever has. I can't take this distance that's growing like a chasm between us, not with all that we shared last night still fresh in my mind. The vulnerability that begins to seep into me almost makes me shiver, and when Peeta begins to move away from me, my hand shoots out to grab his own. I take it as a good sign that he doesn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, and even to my own ears it sounds pitiful. I may be the most prideful of the two of us, but that doesn't mean that Peeta doesn't have a fair amount of pride as well, and I know that I've just wounded it—badly. "I'm sorry," I repeat, growing more and more anxious the longer he doesn't look at me. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the words simply pour from my mouth uncontrollably. "I shouldn't have said that. I was angry. I got carried away."

Peeta still won't look at me. In fact, his gaze is fixated on the doorway. This terrifies me. "Don't leave me." The words escape me brokenly, my voice cracking at the end. I don't think I've ever sounded so very, very small.

Blue eyes meet my grey, and we stare at each other for a brief moment. I don't know what my face looks like, but I imagine it's a look of fear twisted in desperation. I hate being so weak. I hate that I love him so much that I can't picture surviving without him. No, no I don't hate that I love Peeta Mellark as much as I do. I just don't like feeling so out of control, my emotions overwhelming me. Making me say stupid things. Stupid things that hurt.

Peeta tugs gently on my hand, pulling me toward him and when I feel his arms wrap around me, I nearly collapse in relief. "I'll never leave you," he says softly into my hair. "I already promised that, remember?"

I nod against his chest, but my arms around his waist tighten, as if my strength, feeble compared to his, could possibly keep him with me. "You're not a coward," I tell him. "You're one of the bravest people I know. And it's not that you're fearless, it's that you're scared but you do what needs to be done anyway. When others would run away, you stand firm. That's not cowardly at all."

We're quiet for a moment, standing in the middle of the room, just holding each other. Slowly, my tense muscles uncoil and I begin to relax against him. "I would have come back, you know," he says. "I was just going to go into my studio and throw paint at a canvas. Literally."

A strained laugh escapes me. "What colors?" I ask, even though I have an idea.

"Oh, you know," Peeta's voice is slowly becoming more and more lighthearted. "A little black here, a little white there . . . maybe a little grey right in the middle . . ."

"I see what you were trying to say," I tell him softly. "Either way it goes, war or not, people are still going to suffer. You're right. People are going to choose a side, and then they'll fight tooth and nail. That's the black and white. But you need grey, you need people to fight for what's _right_. Because if we don't, we just might trade one dictator for another."

"Took you long enough," Peeta chides without venom.

"But Peeta, that's in a perfect world," I say softly. "And I think we can agree this isn't a perfect world. Some people won't listen."

Peeta sighs. "I know . . . but I've got to believe that there's still some good in this world. People just need to see it."

We're silent for another moment before Peeta says, "You know, we really suck at morning after bliss. We're supposed to be beside ourselves with happiness all morning, and if we really overachieve, we can stretch that to all day."

I can't help but laugh. "We were doing pretty good until I screwed it up."

Peeta glances at the clock. "Technically, it's ten-thirty. We still have an hour and a half of the morning to turn this around."

I pull back, so I can really look at him. Peeta's smiling softly down at me, a slight twinkle in his eye, and I can't help but smile back at him. "I love you," I say softly. "I really do."

"That's a great start," Peeta grins as he begins to walk me back toward the bed. "We're on that train to happiness, now."

"Oh, and we had our first fight as a married couple," I add, noting with a smile how Peeta's eyes lit up when I said 'married.' "See? That's already out of the way."

"We can see that as a good thing," Peeta agrees. By this time we're already lying on the bed and he's hovering over me. My arms are twined around his neck, my fingers playing with the curls at his nape. "But I've got an hour and twenty-five minutes left of this morning that I do not intend to waste."

I smile as his lips move toward mine. Just when we're a breath a part, Peeta whispers, "And by the way, Mrs. Mellark . . ." he smiles against my lips. "I love you, too."

* * *

**Wow, Peeta, tone down you're awesomeness! There is only so much we girls can stand before we're ruined for all the guys out there that actually exist.**

**So, the first fight as a married couple is out of the way! Woo! I think we can all agree with Peeta that it's a good thing. :)**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Katniss!**

**"Keep me here. Lock me in the bedroom. Say that I'm incapacitated."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	19. Chapter 19

**************************A/N: Hey guys! Just wanted to let you guys know (yet again) just how awesome you are. Seriously. What T rated story gets this many reviews not even 20 chapters in? Only further evidence of your collective awesomeness.**

**************************Once again, not much for me to blab about, which, I know, is very strange. School is boring, and first semester is winding down. Really only have a month left, so I guess the next big thing is finals? Oh, yay. The joy this thought brings me.**

**************************Anywhoo, let's get on to bigger and better things. Like the movie quote for today! Let's take a quote from _The Lucky One_.**

**************************"Well that's as clean as it will ever be."**

**************************-Nana (you gotta love her)**

**************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."

* * *

Chapter 19

Unlike yesterday morning, when I kept my eyes closed because I didn't want my bliss to meet reality, this morning I keep them closed simply because I do _not_ want to get up. My back is pressed against Peeta's chest, his arm around my waist not allowing an inch of movement, and I know from experience that if I try and squirm away, his arm will tighten around me to keep me where I am.

I really don't mind.

I can feel Peeta's even, steady breaths on the back of my neck, and I can't help the soft sigh that escapes me. Leaving this bed is the last thing I want to do. The bed is warm, comfortable, safe, and is occupied by Peeta, my husband of thirty-six hours and counting. It's still weird to think that we're married. I really don't feel any different. He's still Peeta to me. Before, Peeta and I hadn't labeled ourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend. Neither of us thought that the term could apply to us. It simply seemed too . . . meek . . . to describe what we were to each other. I'd liked the term partner. He'd been my partner in the Games, and when we'd returned he'd continued to be my partner in life. That's basically what a husband is, right?

I still think it's weird to call him my husband, but I think I'll get used to it . . . especially since I just realized I'm smiling. Yep, I'll get used to it.

However, I frown when my brain annoyingly reminds me that I have to get up, leave the bed and Peeta, and go over to my house—where I will try on all my wedding dresses, approved by President Snow himself. Oh, the great joy coursing through my veins. Haymitch had to reschedule the shoot because of my twisted knee, but now the time of horror is upon me.

In retaliation to my mutinous thoughts, I decide to have a little fun before I doom myself to hours of primping, makeup, hairspray, cameras, dresses, and the never ending chatter of my prep team. I turn so that I'm lying on my other side, facing Peeta. Then, in a lightning quick move, I hook my leg over Peeta's hip, shove his left shoulder, and flip us so that I'm straddling his waist.

"Whoa!"

Peeta's eyes fly open comically, and he sits up quicker than I would have thought possible. I'm already laughing, laying my head on his shoulder. "Damn it, Katniss," he complains, though I hear the smile in his voice. "Don't do that!"

His arms wrap around my waist and I lift my head from his shoulder so I can grin mockingly at him. "Aw, did I scare you?"

"No," Peeta says sarcastically. "But I'll tell you when my heart rate returns to normal."

His sarcastic glare morphs into a smile though, like I knew it would. "You know, this doesn't change the fact that you still have to have that photo shoot."

I groan. "Keep me here. Lock me in the bedroom. Say that I'm incapacitated."

"Well that would have worked if the photo shoot was yesterday," Peeta replies with a cocky smirk and I huff indignantly, shoving his shoulder. I move to get off of him, but Peeta's hands clamp down on my waist tightly, but not uncomfortably so, just enough so that I can't move. He places a lingering kiss on my neck, and my eyes close involuntarily. "Maybe I could make you a little late, though . . ." he offers, his voice deeper than normal and I feel a shiver run down my spine.

But my rational side kicks in, winning the battle over my hormones, which is an impressive feat. I sigh in defeat and Peeta chuckles. "Just get over there and be done with it," he suggests, pulling away to look up at me sympathetically. "Who knows, you might actually enjoy yourself."

I raise my eyebrows.

"Or not."

"It's going to be torture," I can't help but whine childishly. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. "I don't want to go."

"Okay, I know I'm irresistible, but you've got to be able to be away from me for more than five minutes," Peeta says teasingly, his hands running down my back.

I make a sound of surprise when he suddenly gets to his feet, and I cling to him tighter. He walks across the bedroom to the dresser and somehow he manages to pick out some clothes for me even though I've glued myself to him. He gently shoves them in my face, tossing the shirt over my head, and says, "You might want to get dressed. You've got to be over there in ten minutes."

I don't move. "I thought you loved me," I reply, my voice muffled by the clothes.

"I do," he says lightly, not falling into my guilt trap. Damn it. "I'm doing this for your own good. Because you know that if you're not over there when your prep team arrives, they will automatically come over here. And somehow it wouldn't surprise me if that barged right in here."

He has a point.

Finally, I give in. I unwrap my legs from Peeta's waist and grab the clothes before they fall. I give him my best glare, but it doesn't affect him like it used to. He shrugs at me and gives me an easy smile. "I'll probably be painting all day," he says. "But feel free to come in once you've escaped the horror."

"You're mocking me," I scowl as I move past him and begin to get dressed, pulling off my nightclothes and replacing them with the jeans and light sweater Peeta had grabbed.

"Come on, it can't be that bad," he says. "Just think about yesterday when you're at your breaking point."

I can't help the soft smile that spreads across my face at his words. Replays of yesterday and the night before begin flitting through my mind and I can't help the warmth that spreads throughout my body, making my skin feel hot. While our morning after bliss had gotten off to a rocky start, we'd managed to recover and spent the rest of the day in bed. We talked, kissed, made love once more, and then slept, before waking up in the middle of the night to raid the kitchen. We indulged with a tub of ice cream, chocolate of course, which was a gift from Effie that she sent for Peeta's birthday. I'd already loved ice cream anyway, one of the few things I liked about the Capitol, but I discovered a new fondness for it when I got to lick it off Peeta's chest . . .

But that's another story . . .

"I think that might work," I say lightly as I feel Peeta's arms wrap around my waist. Our little bubble of bliss still hadn't popped yet, it would seem. Peeta begins to kiss my neck, and I can't help but laugh. "I thought you were trying to get me to leave?"

"Just because I said you need to leave, doesn't mean I want you to leave," he tells me smartly and I roll my eyes, turning in his embrace and resting my hands on his chest.

"Maya can keep you company," I say. "She'll even give you a kiss, too."

Peeta's face twists into a grimace. "That's not the tongue I want in my mouth."

I blush furiously, and he promptly laughs at me. "Will you stop saying things like that?!" I give him a shove, and move past him, opening the door to the bedroom and descending the stairs. I hear Peeta behind me, but I ignore him. The heat in my cheeks has not even begun to fade. It's probably ridiculous that these things still make me blush, considering everything, but I can't help it.

When I step out onto the front porch, I almost trip over a mass of dapple grey and white. Indigo eyes stare up at me in annoyance, and I sigh, squatting down to her level and beginning to scratch behind her ears. "Don't be mad," I tell Maya. Admittedly, she hasn't been inside the house with us for two days, and honestly I'd forgotten about her, though I think it's safe to say that my mind was on other things—all involving Peeta. "You can keep Peeta company, though," I tell her. "He's going to be lonely."

Maya sniffs, almost disdainfully, but she quickly gets to her feet and trots by me, heading into the house. I already know that she's going straight to the kitchen, where Peeta will no doubt feed her something that wouldn't normally be fed to a wolf. Honestly, I'd caught him giving her a cookie once.

The snow that has blanketed the ground for the past few months is beginning to melt, causing ugly brown patches of mud and grass to interrupt the fluffy whiteness on the ground. Spring is coming. The morning sun is already high in the sky, and I can't help but smile. I've always been a morning person.

"You've got three minutes," a voice reminds me and I look over my shoulder to see Peeta leaning against the doorframe. "You know they'll be here right at 8 o'clock."

I grumble some nonsense under my breath, and Peeta smiles. He takes my hand and pulls me to him for a brief kiss, and my eyes close as I savor the sweet moment. "Okay, okay, I'm going," I murmur against his lips, but I impulsively press my lips to his once again.

I have no doubt that we would have kept kissing if it weren't for Peeta, who gently pulls away. "Go," he orders playfully. "Me and the beast will be here waiting."

"Maya isn't a beast," I stick up for my furry companion, and Peeta merely shrugs in response.

I scoff, but I squeeze his hand once before I let go and walk over to my house. Prim meets me at the door, a disapproving frown on her face. "Where have you been?" she scolds.

"Um . . . with Peeta?" I say, before I hurriedly add, "You know not _with_ him, but like, hanging out, and, um . . . stuff."

Strangely, Prim doesn't seem to believe me. "Uh huh. What kind of stuff?"

Now, I'm worried. "Stuff," I repeat. "We . . . um . . . made stuff."

"Made stuff," Prim repeats, her little arms folded over her chest. "Right."

"It was completely innocent," I defend.

"I know what sex is, Katniss," Prim says and my eyes bug out.

Did my sweet little Prim just say what I think she did? No, no, no . . . I must have heard wrong. "W-what?"

"Sex," Prim repeats and I cringe. Suddenly, Prim's eyes widen. "Wait, that means that you, and Peeta, and . . . ew!"

Ah, yes! There's still hope!

"None of your business, Little Duck," I tell her with a smile, and Prim actually shudders.

"Ew!" she repeats and I can't help but laugh. "Why?"

"Um, because I love him?" I suggest, beginning to feel awkward, my momentary glee at Prim's distaste for sex fading, though I am ecstatic that the idea seems to repulse her. She's too young to even _think_ the word 'sex' in my opinion.

"Well that explains why you were gone all day yesterday," Prim says. "You missed dinner with Haymitch, by the way."

"Oh, that's too bad," I say lightly as I begin to move up the stairs. However, halfway up, I pause and look back down at Prim. "Um, don't tell mom."

Prim makes a motion of locking her lips and throwing away the key. "I love you, Little Duck," I tell her gratefully and Prim smiles before skipping off into the kitchen.

Well, that's one disaster averted. I shudder to think the scolding I'd get from my mother if she found out I'd slept with Peeta before we were 'married.' Peeta and I debated telling others about our toasting, but in the end we decided to keep it a secret. It wasn't because we were worried about the trouble we'd be in (we both agree that they can mind their own damn business). We are simply keeping it a secret because we want to. Our toasting is something that is just between us, something about our relationship that we _chose_ to do. It is between us and only us, and we want to keep it that way.

I reach my room and hop into the shower. It's the quickest shower of my life, and just as I'm wrapping a towel around myself, I hear the front door open and what seems like a million voices suddenly chattering at once. Here we go.

I barely have time to switch out my towel for my robe before my prep team descends upon me. As usual, they complain about how I've 'let myself go,' and then they drag me toward a chair and begin making me over. Flavius compliments my hair as he runs his fingers through it, and I find myself wishing it were Peeta's fingers in my hair instead, which prompts a very vivid flashback from two nights ago, and I feel my body flush with heat.

Oh, this is going to be a long day.

For once, I actually try and focus on my prep team's ceaseless prattle. Peeta's advice to remember last night and the night before is turning out to be a double-edged sword. While it does help me survive the beauty and glamour, it keeps making me blush and squirm in my seat. Peeta was right about one thing, he's irresistible, and it's taking all my willpower not to ditch the photo shoot, run over to his house, barricade myself inside, and then have my way with him.

This thought causes my deepest blush yet, and Octavia says, "Gosh, Katniss, there's nothing to be embarrassed about! It's nothing we haven't seen!"

By now, I'm so used to my beauty routine that I hardly flinch when they rip the hair from my body, and the vile smelling stuff that they soak me in afterwards hardly makes my nose crinkle. Octavia goes to work on my nails, while Venia starts on my makeup. Flavius begins to curl my hair, and I'm actually rather relaxed for a while as they fiddle with me, but an offhanded comment made by Octavia gets my attention. It's about how she couldn't get shrimp for her birthday party. Seemingly insignificant, but not when it immediately throws my mind back months before, when the Capitol cronies had mentioned District 4 as a potentially riotous district.

"Why couldn't you get shrimp?" I ask, trying to hide my curiosity. "Is it out of season?"

"Oh, Katniss, we haven't been able to get any seafood for weeks!" Octavia laments. "You know, because of the bad weather in District 4."

Bad weather? For weeks? Is that the Capitol's excuse? Instinct tells me that this is a lie. District 4 has revolted, I'm sure of it.

For the rest of the time, I casually try to get them to talk about anything else that has been in short supply in the Capitol. I get a whole lot more information than I bargained for. The Capitol citizens are not used to being without anything, so the absence of shrimp is a big deal. However, after careful questioning, I learn that not only has seafood been absent, but many different products as well, differing from shrimp to music chips to ribbons. These supplies help me piece together which districts have revolted. Seafood from 4. Electronics from 3. Fabrics from 8.

The fire is spreading.

But before I can surreptitiously interrogate my prep team further, Cinna strides into the room, gives me a kiss on the cheek, checks over my makeup, and then I'm whisked away into one of the oddest nightmares ever. There are six wedding dresses in total and they're all spread out in the living room. Effie is in her element, ordering people around and making sure that everything is on schedule.

I never knew that photo shoots were so trying. By the time I'm out of the first dress, which is white, lacy, and is complemented by pink roses, I'm ready to pull my hair out. Each dress requires different makeup, hair, shoes, jewelry, headpieces, setting and lighting, making the process of one photo shoot for a single dress last a lifetime.

My mind tries to occupy itself with thoughts of the revolts in the other districts, but that doesn't last too long so I resort to thinking about Peeta, which causes me to flush and stammer for no reason when someone asks me a question. Particularly when I realized that these dresses I'm trying on should not be white—that symbolism doesn't apply to me anymore.

In between dresses, my mother manages to feed me bites of food and sips of tea while I'm redone over and over for each dress. Though I may not like the process, I have to admit that the dresses are beautiful, but then again, how could they not be? They're Cinna's work.

Each dress is different, but they're all spectacular. Diamonds and jeweled veils. Heavy flows of silk and pearls. I surprise myself when my eyes linger on the last dress, more specifically the reflection I see staring back at me. The dress wraps around me with waves of creamy white silk, the bodice studded with pearls, with long, billowy sleeves that hang to the floor. My hair is in an elaborate curly up-do with seemingly errant, yet perfectly symmetrical curls framing my face. A bouquet of white lilies in my hands. I have to admit, it's my favorite.

But the fact that I actually liked one of the dresses pales into insignificance when the photographer announces that the last shot has been taken. Free at last! Everyone begins the clean up process, and Effie ushers me upstairs. Cinna follows me up and helps me out of the dress. It's the first time we've been alone, and I want so desperately to ask him how things are in the Capitol, if he knows anything about the uprisings. I know that he'd give me a straight answer, one that's not clouded by frivolous want. He'd give me the facts as they were. But I manage to resist, only because I know that he could possibly face repercussions if Snow ever found out that Cinna was 'conspiring with me' or some nonsense like that.

Once I'm free from the dress, Cinna leaves me, but not before promising to call me later. For a moment I stand in the middle of my room, soaking up the quiet and the solitude. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like, what with everyone that's been swarming me all day. I step into the shower and wash away all the makeup, glitter, dyes, and products that I've been doused in today. When I actually step out of the shower, I really do feel lighter.

I'm in the process of pulling my shirt over my head when I hear the telltale sound of heavy paws. I turn just in time to see Maya trot into my room. She immediately hops onto the bed and gets comfortable, and I can't help but laugh at her. I settle on the bed beside her, stretching out, though I wince a little bit at the twinge in my knee. All the walking and standing in heels wasn't very nice for the tender joint.

My fingers glide through her fur, and Maya sighs contentedly, closing her eyes. "She missed you." I turn my head to see Peeta in the doorway. He smiles as he enters the room. "About noon she just planted herself at the door, waiting for you to get home."

I scoot over on the bed so that Peeta can lie beside me. Once he's settled, my head immediately rests against his shoulder. My eyes close without my permission and I sigh. "Long day?" Peeta asks.

"You have no idea."

As if to taunt me, my mind conjures up images of the day, full of satin, lace, silk, makeup, hairspray, and other beauty products. I will not be surprised if I have nightmares. Like, maybe being chased by a wedding dress and my prep team, wielding weapons of mass destruction—like a curling iron.

But my mind also brings back my secret interrogation of my prep team. I lift my head from Peeta's shoulder so I can look him in the eyes. "You know, Octavia told me the strangest thing," I say. "She said that the Capitol hasn't been getting any seafood for weeks. Apparently, the weather is pretty bad in District 4." Peeta's eyes narrow and I know he's reading between the lines. District 4 has rebelled. "There are other shortages, too, like electronic stuff and fabrics."

"Really?" Peeta says lightly. "That's interesting."

"I thought so."

"We should probably tell Haymitch," Peeta says. "See if he knows anything."

I nod before laying my head on his shoulder once more. "Maybe we could drop by after dinner."

Peeta hums in agreement, and we spend a few minutes simply lying together in silence. I can't seem to resist burrowing deeper into his side, and Peeta's arm wraps around me, holding me close. As the silence drones on, I think about what all Haymitch might know. He's in contact with the Capitol more than we are, much to his distaste, because he's our mentor and I think Effie calls him a lot to remind him of stuff that he's probably been trying to drink himself into forgetting.

Will my new information surprise him? I think back to the night of the Harvest Festival, when Peeta and I had told him of the news we'd overheard in the Capitol. The idea of a riotous District 8 didn't seem to surprise him in any way, but maybe that was just Haymitch being Haymitch. Nothing throws him.

Eventually, Peeta and I extricate ourselves from each other and make our way downstairs. My mother has been hard at work in the kitchen with Prim, and together they put together a fine meal. Steak and mashed potatoes and green beans—Peeta contributed the rolls. Conversation starts out light, with Prim gushing about the wedding dresses. She'd arrived home from school in time to see the last two. Peeta listens to every word, and I know that he's trying to picture me in the dresses Prim is describing.

The dinner is relatively pleasant . . . at least until my mother beings subtly interrogating Peeta about his intentions toward me and whether he can keep his hormones in check, especially since it's an ignored fact that I sleep over at his house every night. This turn of conversation is incredibly awkward, for me at least. I'm probably the only one who sees the hidden amusement in Peeta's eyes as he almost gleefully answers my mother's queries about our supposedly nonexistent sex life.

Oh, wow. I actually have a sex life.

In silent retaliation for his hidden amusement, both at my mother's questions and at my embarrassment, I casually slip my hand under the table and lay it on Peeta's knee. He barely pauses in his reply to yet another one of my mother's questions, but otherwise you'd never know that he was distracted. My mother asks another question, and I allow my hand to move up his thigh ever so slightly, making him pause yet again. But, being Peeta, he recovers flawlessly.

This turns into a little game. For every question my mother asks, and for every answer Peeta gives, my hand inches its way up his thigh. Peeta is beginning to squirm, and I manage to hold back a triumphant smirk. Oh, the control I wield over his boy.

But I have to commend him for his self control. It's only when my hand is nearly touching him that he caves. "Well, this has been lovely, Mrs. Everdeen," he compliments, managing a smile. "But I've got to go. There's a painting that I want to finish. I always like to finish want I start," he says, his eyes meeting mine for a split second.

"I'll walk you out," I offer innocently.

Somehow, Peeta manages to casually walk outside, his fingers twined with mine as we make our way to his house. I'm beginning to wonder if I've lost my touch as we walk through the door, but that thought is quickly banished when I'm pushed against the door the second it shuts behind us.

I barely have time to blink before Peeta's kissing me, and I can't help but smile. Oh, yes. I'm good.

"That . . ." Peeta says before trailing off as he begins to kiss my neck. ". . . was not funny . . ."

I slip my hands under his shirt, making his muscles tense, and my smile widens. "I disagree."

Peeta groans when I press my hips to his. "We need a bed," I tell him, but he shakes his head as he rids me of my shirt.

"Not going to make it." He begins to steer us toward the living room, his lips never leaving mine. "Need you now," he says, his husky voice sending shivers of anticipation down my spine.

It's safe to say that we found another use for the couch.

* * *

**Katniss, you're such a tease.**

**So, lots happened this chapter. Wedding dresses. More rebellion. A little bit of love. It's all good.**

**Okay! Quote from the next chapter comes from (drum roll, please) . . . Haymitch!**

**"Hard to be lonely when you've got kids."**

**Lots of love,**

**AC**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry I'm getting this out just a tad bit late. I've had a super busy week and it SUCKED. Seriously, worst week ever, only brightened occasionally by the best group of friends a girl could have. So, I'm kind of down at the moment, but alas, I could not forget about you guys! :)**

**I've been getting some comments about PK's steamy nightly activities. Most are something along the lines of, "Woo! Finally!" and some are like, "Don't make them sex-crazed." So, just to address that, PK will not be sex-crazed. It only seems that way now because the last two of the three chapters have had a saucy scene. Besides, PK's relationship has evolved to that level, and well, they ARE teenagers. Hormones are raging, people. But to those of you who are worried that this story will lose some of its essence, never fear. Trust me.**

**Also, it seems like most of you want Katniss pregnant for the Quell, while some of you don't because it's an overused plot. I see both sides. And while I'm not revealing my plans, I will tell you to trust me. This story has been read by two of my friends (guess you could call them secret betas) and they were absolutely fine with what I did, and thought it added a new depth to the story without causing unnecessary drama. Just trust me, guys.  
**

**So, now that that's out of the way. Let's get to the quote of the day from the one and only, _The Lion King._  
**

**"Slimy, yet satisfying." - Timon  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be.; "Slimy, yet satisfying."  


* * *

Chapter 20

"Haymitch!" I call as I enter my mentor's house. It's still odd for me to walk into his house and not be assaulted by the reek that I'm used to. I can actually see the floor, the furniture looks glossy again, and there's the smell of some type of stew on the stove. Hazelle has turned this place upside down. In a good way.

"What do you want?" Haymitch grumbles, appearing from the kitchen, a glass of clear liquid in his hand that I desperately hope is water. After all, it's hardly eight in the morning.

"Just need to catch up on a few things," Peeta says, speaking for the first time.

After our, um, _detour_ last night, Peeta and I never quite managed to make it over to Haymitch's house to talk like we'd previously discussed. As it was, we had a hard enough time managing to get from the couch to the bedroom. Who knew stairs could be such a hindrance?

Haymitch's eyes narrow. It's uncanny really, his ability to hear what isn't said, but then again, it's not too much of an intuitive leap to come to the conclusion that Peeta and I are not here to discuss how spring is approaching and pretty soon we can frolic through a field of wildflowers.

"Alright, then," he says, making a grand gesture toward the couch. "Let's catch up."

Throughout the past few months, Peeta, Haymitch, and I have developed a sort of shorthand language, just in case we don't want to be overheard talking directly about, oh, I don't know, rebellion? In a matter of minutes, Peeta and I tell Haymitch all about Bonnie and Twill and their belief in the existence of District 13. I tend to do most of the talking, as I continue to tell Haymitch about the uprisings in District 8, 4, and 3. In turn, Haymitch tells us about rumors of revolts in Districts 7 and 11. Peeta and I share a look at the information, thinking the same thing. Nearly half of the districts have attempted to rebel.

Even though I know the answer before I ask the question, I can't stop myself from saying, "Do you still think it won't work here?" I ask.

"Not yet," Haymitch shakes his head, as if he'd anticipated my question. "Those other districts, they're much larger. Even if half the people cower in their homes, the rebels stand a chance. Here in 12, it's got to be all or nothing."

And what with Head Peacekeeper Thread's continuing crackdown here in 12, I'd say that our chance for revolting are practically nonexistent. But, hope, as irritating and uplifting as it is, causes me to insist. "But maybe at some point?"

"Maybe," Haymitch allows. "But we're small, we're weak, and we don't develop nuclear weapons," he adds with his signature sarcasm.

He didn't react very much to my District 13 story. He doesn't believe that somehow, despite all odds, some of District 13's people survived the attacks, escaping the decimation of the Capitol bombs, and began to rebuild underground. And when I put it like that, it seems even more ludicrous.

"So you think 13 was really destroyed?" Peeta asks. Granted, when I'd told Peeta, he had practically shot down the district's existence as well, but he was much more open to the idea.

"Bonnie and Twill were right about the footage of the mockingjay," I state as evidence.

"But what does that prove?" Haymitch asks. "Nothing. There are plenty of reasons they could be using old footage. Probably it looks more impressive. And it's a lot simpler, isn't it? To just press a few buttons in the editing room than to fly all the way out there and film it?" Haymitch takes a drink from his glass. "The idea that 13 has somehow rebounded _and_ the Capitol is ignoring it? That sounds like the kind of rumor desperate people cling to."

I don't argue because he's right and we all know it. Peeta and I stay for a little bit longer, though really it's just me sitting on the couch, tucked into Peeta's side as he and Haymitch talk. I'm struck by the sudden thought that Haymitch spends too much time alone. I mean sure, he's definitely moved up a few steps from the hermit he was before the Games, but he still spends the majority of his time in solitude, only venturing out to buy more liquor, eat with my family or Peeta and I about every other week, and play chess with Prim every Wednesday. That's the only constant. After all these years of being alone simply because he had no other real options, he actually has a family now. Granted, it's completely dysfunctional, and one of the family members is a wolf, but it's still a family. And still he chooses to be alone most of the time?

"Aren't you lonely?" I blurt suddenly, interrupting whatever Haymitch had been about to say.

I know Peeta's giving me a confused look, but my eyes are trained on Haymitch, who is meeting my eyes unflinchingly. I swear I almost see a hint of a smile pull at his lips. "Hard to be lonely when you've got kids," he says after a moment. "Now, go on," he makes a motion toward the door. "Get out of here."

Somehow, I manage to hold back my smile and follow Peeta out the door. Once we're outside, I allow the smile I've been squashing to show, and I glance up at Peeta. "Haymitch has feelings," I say, and Peeta rolls his eyes. "I didn't know he thought of us like that, though," I continue, frowning slightly.

"Emotion is not his strong suit," Peeta says, though I sense his mind is elsewhere. "But he did get us out of the arena, and if we go down, he'll go down with us without complaint."

"Your optimism is overwhelming," I say dryly. Peeta doesn't answer and I take his hand, causing him to look at me. "What's wrong?"

Peeta exhales loudly, running his free hand through his hair, something he does when he's frustrated or stressed. "Haymitch isn't telling us something," he says, and I have a feeling if he weren't holding my hand he'd be pacing. "Something just doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean?"

"Wouldn't you think he'd at least have some hope?" Peeta asks pointedly. "About 13? Wouldn't that seem even more ideal for him than for us? He's been suffering much longer than we have, and he has sources in places high up and down low. If anyone knew anything about whether 13 is alive, it would be Haymitch."

"What are you saying?" I ask. "That Haymitch lied to us?"

Peeta looks at me, his face troubled. "I don't know, exactly. But he knows _something_ that he's not telling."

I frown at the thought. Would Haymitch really keep us in the dark? Why? Don't we deserve to know? Or is Peeta wrong? Is he just reading too much into it? I sigh. Peeta knows people better than anyone I know. He can size up a person in one conversation, even if it's about the weather. If Peeta thinks that Haymitch is hiding something, then he's probably right.

The only question is what? What is Haymitch hiding?

This question sits uncomfortably in the back of my mind all day. Peeta and I spend most of the day doing random things. We run by the bakery and talk with Rye and Chris. Mr. Mellark comes in half way through the conversation and says 'hi,' and Mrs. Mellark is mysteriously absent, but I don't give her more than a moment's thought. Things take a turn for the absurd when Rye tries to get Peeta to wrestle.

"Come on, man!" Rye gives Peeta's shoulder a shove, but Peeta ignores him. And being the child he is, Rye resorts to taunting. "Chicken!" he grins. "What? Afraid to lose in front of your girlfriend?"

After five more minutes of nagging, Peeta finally caves, and Rye whoops in triumph. Chris, who has been silently watching the events unfold like me, merely shakes his head, and I laugh. Chris and I follow Peeta and Rye out the back door so they have some room. Peeta hands me his jacket, and gives me a cocky grin. "This won't take too long."

Rye is affronted. "Oh, we'll see about that, babe! Come on, let's see what you got!"

"More than you," Peeta retorts and Rye smiles gleefully.

"See?" he questions, looking at me. "He thinks he's actually going to win! Don't worry, I won't beat him up too bad."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I look at Chris. "Have an ice pack ready. Rye's going to need it."

Chris laughs, and Rye makes a sound of outrage. Peeta winks at me, before returning his attention to his older brother. "Let's get this over with, Rye," he says. "I've got more important things to do than kick your ass."

"Oh, talk dirty to me," Rye waggles his eyebrows, but nonetheless he gets situated.

There's a brief second of stillness before Rye charges Peeta. I resist the urge to laugh when Peeta catches Rye and throws him to the ground, pinning him. Rye is surprised. "W-what the hell? What was that?"

"Me using your momentum to my advantage?" Peeta suggests, getting up and backing away from his older brother. An easy smile graces his face, and I can't help but smile at the sight. It's rare that I see Peeta interact this way with his brothers. I've usually only seen them working together in the bakery, and though they tease and joke with each other (occasionally threatening), I've never seen them outside the bakery, acting like the teenage boys they are.

"Again," Rye demands, looking more serious than I've seen in a while.

I look up at Chris. "Why do I think this is going to turn violent?"

"Because it will," Chris smiles. "And then I'll have to listen to Rye complain all day."

Peeta and Rye wrestle two more times, and both times Peeta wins handedly, only serving to make Rye angrier. By the third round, fists are being thrown, and it's beginning to look more like a brawl than a wrestling match. Peeta eventually pins Rye to the ground, twisting his older brother's arm behind his back.

I've never heard Rye curse before, but the profanity spewing from his mouth in this moment is enough to make me raise my eyebrows in disbelief. But apparently this isn't new to Peeta, because he's grinning in response.

"Okay, okay," Chris begins to break it up. "Let him go, Peet."

Peeta releases Rye's arm, and springs lightly to his feet. Giving me a bright smile, as he wraps his arms around me, but I push him away. "You're all sweaty!" I complain, crinkling my nose, which only makes Peeta more determined to hug me. Eventually, I give up and let him hold me. He gives me a quick kiss before letting me go, and taking my hand.

"See you guys later," he calls over his shoulder to his brothers. Chris waves, and Rye flips him off.

Peeta laughs.

"Having brothers would be weird," I wonder aloud as we walk back toward the Victor's Village.

Peeta shrugs. "Having sisters would be weird."

"Touché," I admit. "But seriously. All you guys do is eat and fight."

"We're bonding," Peeta says like it's simple, which I suppose for him it is. "Girls show love differently."

"Prim braids my hair," I admit, and Peeta chuckles at the cliché. "We even talked about boys once."

Peeta looks at me in amusement. "So let me get this straight. You, Katniss Mellark, actually participated in the horror known as girl talk?"

I can't help but smile when he calls me 'Mrs. Mellark.' "Yes," I say smartly. "I did." My smile doesn't fade as I think of our conversation we'd had weeks ago. "She likes Rory, but don't say anything!"

"Oh, my lips are sealed," Peeta assures me with a grin. "Does Rory like her back?"

"Prim says that, and I quote, 'he's giving me mixed signals,'" I tell him, and Peeta chuckles.

"I think Prim is smart enough to figure it out," he says. "But maybe I need to have a little talk with Rory . . ."

"Don't you get involved," I chastise him, giving him a playful shove, though it pleases me that he is that protective of my little sister. "You'll just mess it up. Let things unfold naturally."

"Katniss, are you giving relationship advice?" Peeta teases.

"Yes," I answer firmly, fighting a smile. "I do have some experience in the relationship department."

"Really?" Peeta continues to joke.

"Mhm," I nod, pulling him to stop, and standing in front of him. "After all, I married you, didn't I? I think that makes me fairly qualified to give relationship advice."

Peeta smiles softly. "That you did." His hand caresses my cheek. "I guess you are somewhat of an expert in the relationship department, huh?"

"If _I_ can sort through my feelings and yours, anyone can," I say and Peeta laughs, remembering those days when I was so confused it was almost like up was down and down was up.

We spend the rest of the day at my house, sharing a smile when my mother asks him if he finished his painting last night. Peeta replies in the negative, claiming that he got districted by something else. I had to disguise my laugh as a cough.

For the rest of the afternoon, Maya sits at Peeta's feet as he draws absently in his sketchbook. As for me, I'm stretched out on the couch, resting my head in Peeta's lap. I don't realize I've fallen asleep until I'm jolted awake by the door slamming shut. Prim comes into view, so school must be out.

"Hey, Katniss!" Prim bubbles excitedly, causing Maya to lift her head from her paws. "Guess what!"

"What?"

"They're showing your photo shoot tonight!" Prim squeals in excitement, but I frown.

"But they just filmed it yesterday," I argue confusedly, but Prim shrugs.

"The teachers said that we have mandatory viewing tonight!" she argues back with a smile. "It has to be your photo shoot! That's the rumor."

Sure enough when we gather around the television at seven-thirty that night, we see Caesar Flickerman warming up a standing room only crowd. Cinna is ushered onto the stage, and his entrance is greeted by an uproar of cheers and applause. After all, he became a star the minute I stepped onto that chariot before the parade, my outfit of fire securing him his fame. After a few moments of obligatory chitchat, they get the show on the road, and I see shots of my photo shoot appear on the screen.

Prim begins to gush about each dress, while Peeta merely smiles, though his arm tightens around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. We watch all the different photos go by. I learn that Cinna initially designed twenty four wedding dresses for me, and the people of the Capitol actually voted for all the separate pieces. They continued to vote until they'd narrowed it down to the six dresses that I'd worn yesterday.

They gasp and cheer for the dresses that they like and boo for the ones that they don't. It's crazy to think that these people are so absorbed in my wedding. Although, when I look up at Peeta and he meets my gaze, we share a smile, because little does the Capitol know that we're already one step ahead of them. I give Peeta a kiss, not caring that my mother is in the room.

Peeta keeps the kiss chaste and pulls away after only a few seconds. I rest my head on his shoulder as we continue to watch my photo shoot. Finally, it's over, though Caesar reminds the audience to cast their final vote by noon tomorrow. I'm just about to tell Prim to turn off the television when Caesar tells us to stay tuned. "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

Both Peeta and I tense at the reminder, but Prim is the first one to realize a problem. "What will they do?" she asks. "It isn't for months yet."

Almost as if acting on some unknown signal, our heads turn toward my mother, who is wearing a worn, solemn expression. "It must be the reading of the card."

My eyes dart back to the television screen when the anthem begins to play, and when I see President Snow walking forward onto a balcony, I shrink back into Peeta, as though I'm worried that Snow will simply walk through the screen. Peeta is completely still, his arm around me stiff, though he pulls me even closer to him.

My eyes find a little boy, dressed in a pristine white suit trailing along after Snow holding a simple, rectangular wooden box in his hands. President Snow begins to speak, talking about the Dark Days, which resulted in the Hunger Games. To commemorate the anniversary, every twenty-five years would be marked as a Quarter Quell, an especially horrifying Hunger Games to keep the memory of those killed in the rebellion fresh in mind. The words resonate with me, because no doubt many districts are rebelling now.

Snow continues on, oblivious to my discomfort and disgust, and tells of the previous Quells. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

Horror and shock hit me like a freight train. What must that have been like? Voting on who would be, in essence, given a death sentence. Standing in the crowd at a reaping, waiting for your name to be drawn is hard enough. But being chosen by your district? Knowing that more than one person chose you to be thrust in the arena? I shudder.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes . . ." Snow continues.

That was the year Haymitch won. How insurmountable his fate must have seemed, facing forty-seven tributes instead of twenty-three.

"I had a friend who went that year." My head turns to my mother, who looks more haggard than I've seen in a while. "Maysilee Donner. Her parents owned the sweet shop. They gave me her songbird after. A canary."

I hardly have time to think on this before President Snow begins to speak once again. "And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," he says, actually having the gall to smile, and somehow I have a feeling that he's smiling just for me. A sense of foreboding settles uncomfortably in my stomach. The little boy holds up his little rectangular wooden box, and Snow reaches in and selects a card, which is aged and yellow. He unfolds the envelope gingerly, and immediately reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

My mind goes blank. For a moment, nothing processes. My basic senses are the only things functioning. Peeta's fingers digging into my shoulder. A shriek. My mother? Prim's face buried in her hands.

And then it all clicks and my brain begins to work. It swiftly forms one, horrifying conclusion.

I'm going back into the arena.

* * *

**And now you know that Katniss is going back into the arena. Woo! Bring on the Quell (and whatever else I have in store)! Muahahaha!**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Katniss!  
**

**"I should've just died."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Okay, really short note here! Thank you so, so very much for the reviews! We've crossed 1000! That. Is. Awesome.**

**Quote of the day comes from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.  
**

**"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be.; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."**

* * *

Chapter 21

Flee. Run. Escape. Fight or flight. I can't fight something that's set in stone, but I can still try and escape it. Before I really understand what I'm doing, I'm on my feet and running out the door. The icy air that hits my skin is like a slap in the face, but I ignore it. I feel something wet in my eyes and on my cheeks, making it hard for me to see.

All I want to do is go somewhere safe.

My feet lead me across the street, and I bust through Peeta's door and run up the stairs, nearly falling on my face more than once. I fly down the hallway to the bedroom, slam the door shut behind me, and then collapse onto the bed, burying my face into my pillow. Tears come in a downpour, and I'm shaking with the force of my sobs.

When I feel a large hand on my back, I whirl around to face my attacker. I can't see a thing through my tears, so when I feel strong arms trapping me against a hard chest, I try to scramble away. But the arms only tighten around me the harder I fight. After a few seconds, I begin to process things. The smell of cinnamon. A soft, baritone voice. My body begins to relax.

"Peeta," I whimper brokenly, hardly recognizing my own voice.

In all this time, I'd never thought that I would go back into the arena. It was a chapter of my life that I'd thought I'd passed through. It was done. No going back. Only moving forward. I'd been prepared for many varieties of Snow's retaliation for my rebellion. Assassination. Imprisonment. Torture just to hear me scream even crossed my mind as a possibility at one point, but this . . . returning to the area . . . it had never crossed my mind once.

All of this could have been avoided if I'd only died. If I hadn't raised the backpack when I was fleeing the Cornucopia, Clove's knife would have embedded itself in my skull. I wouldn't have even known what hit me. It would have been an easy, painless death. If only I'd died from dehydration, if I'd never found that pool. That would have been slightly more painful, but at the very end I would have been so loopy with hallucinations it would have been a blissful way to go. I'd just go to sleep and not wake up. If only I'd been stung by more tracker jackers. That would have been the most painful way to go, but it doesn't bother me, because this reality now is far more painful. Or maybe, maybe Clove could have shut her trap and killed me when she had me pinned to the ground at the feast. Or Thresh! Thresh could have chosen to kill me. Bash my head in like he'd done Clove. Foxface. She could have caught me off guard with that knife. Instead of the glancing blow I'd received, it could have nailed me in the gut. Then there was Cato. A final, bloody battle at the Cornucopia where I would lose . . . maybe Peeta or Rue would still have figured out a way to win.

Either way, it would be easier if I were dead.

"I should've just died," I say angrily through my tears, and Peeta's arms tighten around me.

"Don't say that," Peeta orders sharply. "Just don't."

"But—"

"No," Peeta interrupts me. To my surprise, he pulls away from me, holding me by my shoulders. There's a fierce look in his blue eyes, like he's trying to burn a message into my skull. "Listen to me," he demands, his voice soft, but firm. "Things would not be better if you were dead. Yes, the arena was hell, and I don't relish the thought of going back, but damn it, Katniss, I still don't wish I'd died in the arena. You want to know why?" I simply stare at him, and he continues. "Because if I'd died Katniss, I wouldn't have you," he says, his lips pulling up in a faint smile. "I wouldn't have had the chance to love you and be loved by you. I wouldn't have had the chance to call you my wife. I wouldn't have gotten the chance to show you just how much I love you. And I don't know about you, but I would _gladly_ go through a hundred different arenas, if it meant I could still share what was left of my life with you."

My tears are pouring down my face again, but this time it's for a whole different reason. Peeta has said a lot of things to me: sweet nothings, heartfelt romantics, but this . . . what he just said to me . . . is the single most beautiful, loving thing he has ever said to me.

I know that I can't say anything. Peeta has taken away my ability to speak, but I know he must see my answer in my eyes. Because I wouldn't trade what we have now for the world. I don't care how many arenas I'd have to fight through, it would be worth it just to have Peeta's love. To love and be loved. Like my father said, love, true love, is always worth the risk.

We both lean in at the same time, and when our lips meet, I'm filled with the greatest sense of urgency and desperation. Our kiss is frantic and rough, and I don't think we've ever shed our clothes so fast. It's like we both want to prove our love to each other, and we're definitely determined to succeed. Peeta's hands are everywhere, rough and demanding, and I'm pretty sure he's going to have scratches from my fingernails decorating his shoulders.

Judging by his moan, I don't think he cares.

His lips are attacking the flesh of my neck, and I know that he's going to mark my skin many times tonight. Normally, it would annoy me, but this time I don't care. All I know is that it feels good and that's what I want. I want to feel good, anything to distract me from the horrible reality facing me in the coming months.

Not liking the even the smallest of distances between us, I pull his lips back up to mine and kiss him with all that I have. Our tongues dance together, and I'm vaguely aware that my grip on his hair is probably painful, however, Peeta only holds me tighter. But it's not enough. I want to be closer to him, as close as I can possibly get. I grind my hips into his, telling him what I want, and he doesn't hesitate to comply.

Neither of us last long. The pace we set is far too heated and frantic. We cross the threshold together and afterward, Peeta collapses on top of me, and the feel of his weight pressing me into the bed is glorious. He moves to roll off of me, but I keep my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms around his neck, preventing him from moving. Calmness seeps into my veins and I begin to gently comb my fingers through Peeta's hair.

After a minute or so I still haven't let him go and Peeta mumbles, "I'm squishing you."

"I don't care," I say stubbornly, causing him to chuckle, but when he makes the move to shift off of me I let him, and he rolls onto his back.

I turn into his arms the moment they open for me, resting my head on his chest, listening to his still mildly frantic heartbeat. My fingertips ghost over his skin, and Peeta sighs contentedly. "Well," he says after a moment. "That was different."

"Sometimes different is what we need," I say softly, and Peeta hums in agreement, before I feel his lips in my hair.

"I love you, Katniss," he says softly. "No matter what happens, that will never change."

"I love you, too," I reply, kissing his chest, right over his heart. "For better or worse," I can't help but add, and Peeta chuckles.

"This would definitely be in the 'worse' category," he agrees, and I smile. "We'll find a way through this," Peeta continues, his voice serious once again. I lift my head from his chest so I can see his face, which is shining with determination. "You and me, together."

"Haymitch might—" I begin, but Peeta interrupts me.

"No, if he gets called, I'm volunteering," he says, and even though I knew that that was what he was going to do, it still makes my heart clinch in worry. "We got out of one arena together, we can get out of another one."

I shake my head. We got out of the arena together only because of a sympathetic heart, former (now deceased) Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane. Only because of my trick with the berries did we both make it out alive. No amount of nightlock will save us this time. If, somehow, Peeta and I are the last two alive, Snow will blow us both sky high.

"Together," Peeta repeats, overriding my thoughts like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "Always."

My lips meet his softly, such a contrast from moments before. "Always," I repeat, almost like a promise.

We fall into a deep sleep, so deep that the nightmares can't reach us, and for that I'm eternally grateful. I wake up in the morning sore in all the right places, but feeling amazingly well-rested considering the night before. Peeta is already awake, I can tell, his fingertips drawing lazy patterns on my back.

"We need a plan," he says, his voice completely devoid of sleep. Hmm, so maybe I was the only one who slept well last night. I can tell by his tone that he's been up for a while, thinking and planning no doubt. To check my theory, I lift my head from his chest to study his face.

"Did you sleep?" I ask him, my tone slightly scolding, causing Peeta's lips to quirk up in an amused smile.

"A few hours," he admits.

"How long have you been awake?"

"A few hours." I scowl and he responds by kissing me. "Don't worry about me," he says when he pulls away.

"Fine," I relent for the moment. "Do you have any ideas for this plan?"

"We train," he says. "Like the Careers. No one will stop us. The people in 12 may be scared, but they're on our side. They won't report us. We're going to get the best shape of our lives. Your mom can make a diet plan or something. Something that will make it easier to gain muscle." He pauses to grin at me cheekily, "More so for you than for me."

I scoff. "You're not that impressive."

"Oh, but I am," Peeta retorts with a cocky smirk and I roll my eyes, though my hands betray me and I find that I'm tracing each of his abdominal muscles, all six.

Peeta chuckles, knowing he's won, but like the modest person he is, he doesn't point out my weakness. Instead, he continues on with telling me about his plan. "And I'm going to call Effie and get her to send tapes of previous games. We'll watch them, and learn all we can about the victors. Haymitch should be able to give us some more personal stuff. He's been around long enough to know a lot of them."

"What about Haymitch?" I ask. "Is he a part of all the training and stuff?"

"He can be," he says. "But he doesn't have to. I'm going into that arena with you, there's no other option."

"You could be called and then he could always volunteer," I have to point out, but Peeta shakes his head.

"He wouldn't," Peeta argues.

I frown in confusion. "Well, why not?"

"Because he knows that he's of more use outside of the arena," Peeta says. "I wouldn't have a clue about how to handle sponsors and all the background work. That's Haymitch's realm. If we have any shot at getting out of that arena alive, it's Haymitch."

Since it's obvious Peeta has prepared for every possible argument he anticipated me making, I give up and listen to him. "Anyway, we'll take notes on the victors and then when the reaping gets here we can focus on the tributes and review. It's our best shot."

"Well," I sigh, knowing that we only have a little less than three months until the reaping. "We better get started."

We begin our training that very same day, after telling Haymitch about our plan. He actually agreed that it was a good idea, and offered to call Effie for us about the tapes of previous Games. I make a point to visit my house to check up on my mother and Prim. I don't want them to doubt my state of mind. While I might have had a breakdown last night, I've regained my strength and determination. Something must show in my eyes, because my mother immediately goes to work on a special diet plan when I mention it, and Prim offers to teach me about medicines that I could find in the arena and other, simple first aid things that I might need to know.

The next months pass by in a blur. We run a lot, sometimes to the point where I don't think I can force my legs to take another step, but Peeta will say something and somehow I find the will to keep moving. Peeta begins to really work on lifting weights, making me grateful for Effie's early wedding gift—a bench press that he keeps in the basement. I watch as he slowly adds more and more weight throughout the months until he begins to max out at four hundred and ten pounds. Haymitch says that Peeta can't possibly lift anymore without hurting himself.

We work on everything. Knife throwing, which after practice we're both surprisingly good at, nowhere near Clove's standards, but definitely better than decent. Peeta helps me with hand to hand combat, but we don't work on that too often, because there are only so many different times I can be on top of Peeta and vice versa with one of us thinking about something sexual, and Haymitch gets pissed when we start making out.

Gale even helps, teaching us more elaborate snares. He even helps Peeta with hand to hand, considering that it's a given Peeta will beat me, and Haymitch, while strong, is just a tad rusty. It's weird to watch Gale and Peeta fight. Half the time I'm engrossed, and the other half I'm worried one of them will snap and really start trying to beat the other. It's gotten to that point on more than one occasion, and I have to make up an excuse to stop the fight, just to avoid a real one. It's always easy to spot. A tenseness will settle in the air. Gale's moves will get sharper, and Peeta's hits get harder. They'll both stand up straighter. Haymitch laughed and called it 'posturing.' My mentor thinks the ongoing, subtle, unspoken rivalry between Gale and Peeta is quite amusing. Of course, I didn't understand this, when it was obvious that I was with Peeta and that it wasn't going to change. That was when Haymitch informed me that guys would always be guys. Gale would always resent Peeta for being with me, and Peeta would always resent Gale for wanting me. Haymitch says it won't end until Gale finds someone else.

Our regimen continues. Work out during the day, and then watch the tapes of the Games at night. Haymitch fills us in on some of the more personal aspects of the victors, and Peeta writes it all down in a notebook. I gain muscle and put on a few pounds, and in contrast, Peeta actually _loses_ weight. Not much, only about ten pounds. He's leaner now, still wonderfully broad shouldered, but leaner, his muscles even more defined than before.

I'm feeling better than ever, physically at least, until about a month before the Games. I wake up feeling nauseous, and sometimes just the smell of something will cause me to toss up everything in my stomach. The flu is the first thing that pops into my mind, but I don't have a fever. Prim and my mother order me to rest anyway, and I sit out on training for an entire week.

It doesn't help. I manage to hide most of it from Peeta, carefully extricating myself from him in the mornings before bolting into the bathroom to vomit. I'm lucky he's sleeping heavier now, what with all the exercise. If he wasn't, I wouldn't be able to leave the bed without waking him up, and I definitely didn't want him privy to me puking my guts out every morning.

Something pricks in the back of my mind as another week passes, another week of mornings filled with nausea. I try desperately to ignore what my body is telling me, but something settles within me, some kind of instinct. I try to fight it, but I can't. I tell myself that I've never had regular cycles, that it's always been normal for me to skip months, but the fact is that my period is late, and I don't have the fact that I'm a virgin to fall back on anymore. The thought that I could possibly be . . . pregnant . . . fills me with such terror that it makes me vomit until I'm dry heaving.

I try and reassure myself for the next few days, telling myself that Peeta and I always used protection, and that there was no way that what my body was telling me was right. My body was wrong. For the first time in my life, I prayed for my period to come. I was willing to suffer the cramps and the bloating and all the hell that came with a period, but it never came. Three weeks before the reaping, I finally decide that there's only one thing left to do.

After training is over one day, I sneak back to the house, knowing that Prim is there alone.

"Prim?" I call softly, cursing when my voice cracks.

"What is it, Katniss?" Prim asks as she walks out of the kitchen. We stare at each other for a moment, the living room separating us. I feel tears begin to prick in my eyes, but I bat them back.

"I-I need something," I tell her.

"Okay," Prim says reasonably, though I know she realizes that something is wrong. She's adopted that calm tone that I've heard my mother use on sick patients and the comparison is not helping my emotional state right now. "What do you need?"

"You can't tell mom," I say quickly, my voice sounding harsher than I meant it to, and Prim's eyes widen for a moment, before she nods.

"Okay."

"Prim, I . . ." I swallow, before forcing myself to say the words. "I need a pregnancy test." The words escape my lips in a whisper, and I'm surprised she heard them.

Prim doesn't seem too shocked by my request. "Alright," she says. "Come on."

I follow her into the cupboard where she and my mother keep their supplies. On the top shelf are three pregnancy tests, and Prim reaches up on her tiptoes to take one. She's almost as tall as I am now. "I've been debating just taking this to you," she tells me, almost absently. "You can hide the nausea from mom, but not from me. I know you better."

It's the first time she's truly acknowledged our mother's absence in our lives. We've always relied on each other, and in some ways, Prim knows me even better than Peeta. "Here," she says, placing it in my hand.

I take it hesitantly, like I'm afraid it will bite me. Almost mechanically, I begin to make my way upstairs into my room that I hardly ever use anymore, and proceed into the bathroom. My trembling fingers fumble to open the stupid box, but eventually I get it open and read the instructions inside.

I take the test, and then I'm waiting. Waiting for a little plus sign to show on the tiny screen. The waiting is agony. My heart is beating against my chest frantically, and I try to keep my breathing even. Waiting is torture. I'm reminded of the Launch Room. The room where I waited with Cinna to be launched into the arena. Sitting on the couch in silence, clutching his hand, waiting. Just waiting. Waiting for a future that I had no control over. Waiting to be thrown into an arena filled with death, with no real hope for life.

And here I am now, facing that situation again, except this time, it would be so, so much worse.

I vaguely note Prim's presence beside me. I don't know when she came in, but she stands beside me, and we both wait. And then it appears. A plus sign.

I'm pregnant.

My breath comes in short gasps as I choke on the sobs that are already shaking my body. I feel myself slowly slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor. "No, no, no, no, no . . ." I whimper pitifully, as if my words can change what has happened.

What have I done?

My body is wracked with harsh, angry sobs. I feel like pulling my hair out, but I settle for slamming my fist into the floor, oblivious to the resulting pain in my knuckles. I want to scream, but I don't have enough breath. I'm pregnant.

The thought swirls in my mind, taunting me. I'm pregnant. My stupidity has made this happen. This is why I didn't want a relationship. This is why I didn't want to fall in love. This is why! A child, _my_ child, being born into this cruel world. And now, it's even worse, because the president has a personal vendetta against me. My child is doomed.

I want to hate it. So, so desperately with every fiber of my being I want to hate it, _loathe_ it. I want to be perfectly fine with killing it, ridding myself of its hindrance. I want to think of it as nothing but a nuisance to be destroyed. I want to hate it . . . but I can't. I can't hate something that's part Peeta.

Peeta.

For a moment, I'm blindingly angry at him. After all, if he'd never entered my life, if he'd never made me fall in love with him, I wouldn't be in this position. It's all his fault. All of it. I would have survived just fine without him. I didn't need him. I only needed myself and my bow. What was he anyway? Just a person that made me weak . . .

But just as quickly has it had risen, my anger fades, because I know that I'm wrong. I _do_ need Peeta. I _can't_ survive without him. Peeta has provided a balance to my life, a sense of completeness that I didn't know I'd been lacking. He's everything to me, and he makes me stronger.

But what now? Tears pour down my cheeks in a torrent as I think of the Quell. I'm going into the arena, but now it's not just me. I'm not fighting for just me. If I die, my baby dies, a part of Peeta will die, and I can't accept that. But what if . . . what if Peeta dies in the Quell? What if . . . what if somehow I live? The idea is so abhorrent to me, that it prompts a painful sob to tear through my throat. I can't do this without Peeta. I can't raise a child without Peeta.

"Katniss?"

I snap my head toward the voice, and see Peeta standing in the doorway, confused and worried. I hadn't even realized Prim had left me. "Prim said you needed me. Katniss, what's wrong?"

The question only prompts another river of tears, and I'm surprised I still have the ability to cry. My outburst only catapults Peeta's worry and I can tell he's on the verge of panic. He crouches down beside me, tenderly wiping away my tears in a useless gesture because there's no way they're going to stop falling anytime soon.

"Katniss, you're scaring me," Peeta says, begging me with his eyes to tell me what's wrong. "What is it?"

I open my mouth to try and tell him, but my words are choked by gasps and sobs, and finally I give up and merely hand him the test, which I've been clutching in my hand this entire time. Peeta stares at it dumbly at first, before I see recognition in his eyes. For a moment, I see a flash of joy, elation really, until it is completely overcome by fear. Peeta has realized what this means. This is no pregnancy to celebrate.

Peeta falls back onto the floor, landing heavily, but he doesn't seem to care as he slumps against the wall beside me. I feel like a blubbering weakling, sitting here on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, balling my eyes out. And the longer Peeta remains silent, the more my anxiety rises. Is he mad at me? Does he hate me for doing this to him? For messing up? Is he . . . is he going to leave me? My heart wrenches so painfully that I gasp. No more tears fall from my eyes, I've run out. All I can do is shake and tremble.

Vulnerability hits me hard, and I've never felt so alone. It's like there's a wall between Peeta and I, built of the strongest stone. This is it. He's going to leave me. He doesn't want me anymore. These thoughts threaten to drive me insane . . . until I feel warm, strong fingers lace with mine.

And just like that, the wall between us crumbles.

Peeta pulls me into his lap, and I'm so tired and worn out from crying that I don't even make a move to protest. I fist my hands in his shirt and bury my face into his neck. Peeta begins to whisper to me, but I don't really hear what he's saying, all I'm comprehending is that he's holding me, that he still wants me.

That's all that matters right now.

* * *

**So, there we go. She's preggers. She'll go to the Quell. Yep, I went there.**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Peeta!  
**

**"I'm not going anywhere."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	22. Chapter 22

******************************A/N: Sorry this is a little late guys! Quite honestly, the reason is because I was curling my hair this morning and it made me late for my first class, which, in turn, made me forget to post before class like I usually do. So . . . my bad guys.  
**

******************************On the positive side, my hair looks awesome.  
**

******************************So, this chapter is a ton of fun. Dramatic fun. Remember when I teased you guys about a Haymitch vs. Peeta episode?  
**

******************************Yeah. . . that's this chapter. ;)  
**

******************************Movie quote for today comes from Robin Hood: Men in Tights.  
**

******************************"Over that boy hand!" Sheriff of Rottingham  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be.; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"  
**

* * *

Chapter 22

I don't know how long we stay on the bathroom floor. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours, and I wouldn't know the difference. Peeta stopped whispering reassurances to me a while ago, but he hasn't once relinquished his hold on me. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice a whisper, but it still seems too loud. "I love you," he says quietly. "So much."

It's amazing how three little words can influence your mood. Well, five technically, but I'm focusing on the first three. Peeta still loves me. In the back of my mind, I know that it was silly to ever doubt him, but admittedly I'd been rather overwhelmed at the time. And I imagine that if I had the energy, I would still be overwhelmed.

"And I love our baby," he says, making my heart clinch. "But if you . . . if you don't . . . if you don't want . . ." Peeta begins fumbling his words, and it takes me a moment to realize what he's trying to say.

"No." My voice sounds terrible, so incredibly hoarse from all my crying, but I ignore it. "I can't do that. I can't kill something that's part you."

Even though I can't see his face, I know that I've managed to make him smile, if only a little. "That's nice to hear," he says, and though he tries to hide it, I hear the relief in his voice. "Um, do you know how far along you are?"

I begin trying to do the math in my head. "Seven weeks?" I estimate hesitantly. "Maybe eight."

"So all the puking . . ." Peeta trails off.

"Morning sickness," I say. "The new bane of my existence."

Both of us manage to laugh at that, but the brief moment of levity passes quicker than I can blink. "What are we going to do, Peeta?" I whisper into his neck. "I can't do this without you."

"Who says you will?" Peeta replies, holding me tighter. "I'm not going anywhere."

"But what if . . ." I can't say the words. I can't say aloud that he might die and leave me to face this alone.

"I'm not going anywhere," Peeta repeats softly. "We're going to go into the arena, I'm going to protect you and the baby, and somehow I'll find a way to get us out of there alive."

He's lying. I feel a sob threaten to escape me, but I manage to control it. "You'll die for me," I whisper, my voice cracking. "You promised you wouldn't leave me!" I can't believe I'm so weepy, but I'm blaming it on the hormones. "You promised . . ."

"And I'll keep it as long as I can," Peeta says softly. "But Katniss, if it comes down to the two of us, there's no way in hell I'm just going to let Snow blow us sky high. You're getting out of there alive."

"I can't do this without you," I tell him, pulling away from him so that I can look him in the eyes, emphasizing my point. "I can't." My voice cracks again, and I see something within Peeta break, but instead of crumbling, a fierce light enters his eyes, a level of determination that I've never seen.

"Come on," he says, standing up, though he keeps me in his arms. Gently, he sets me on my feet and I stretch my joints, which are stiff from being in the same position for so long. He picks the pregnancy test up off the floor and tosses it into the trash. I pause for a moment when I see my reflection in the mirror.

"I'm a mess," I mumble as I quickly turn on the tap and splash water on my face. Peeta hands me a towel and I pat the water from my face, but when I open my eyes to stare at my reflection, all I see are red-rimmed, puffy eyes with an equally red nose. I look terrible.

"Come on." The soft, yet sure command in Peeta's voice is ever present, but the determination shining brilliantly in his blue eyes has softened just slightly.

"Where are we going?" I ask as he takes my hand.

"Haymitch."

"What can Haymitch do?" Peeta doesn't answer immediately, instead focusing on descending the stairs. We're outside walking toward Haymitch's house before he answers.

"He's going to tell us what he's been hiding," Peeta answers, and my mind flashes back a few months ago, when we'd told Haymitch about District 13. Peeta had thought Haymitch wasn't telling us something, but in the passing months I'd completely forgotten.

Peeta doesn't even bother with knocking. He storms right in, with me trailing along after him. Peeta is so determined, it's almost like it's translating into anger. Haymitch isn't in the living room or the kitchen, and Peeta immediately goes out the back door. Sure enough, Haymitch is sitting outside in an old rocker, drinking.

He looks up at us and his eyes immediately narrow. There's a moment when he looks from me to Peeta. No doubt taking in my red-rimmed, puffy-eyed, disheveled appearance, and Peeta's contrasting determined gaze.

"What do you know about District 13?" Peeta asks immediately, and I think we actually take our mentor by surprise.

"What are you talking about, kid?" Haymitch asks, automatically standing up from his chair. "I thought we went over this."

"Yeah, we did, and you didn't tell us everything."

"Listen kid—"

"No! You listen," Peeta snaps, surprising Haymitch yet again. Peeta drops my hand so he can stand toe to toe with our mentor. "Stop bullshitting for once and give us a straight answer!"

It's not often that Peeta curses. The only time he seems to deem it appropriate is when he's in pain or when he's mad, really mad—like now.

"I know when someone's lying to me," Peeta growls. "And right now you're not doing a very good job."

Anger flares in Haymitch's eyes. In fact, he looks like he wants to tear Peeta's head off, but Peeta doesn't flinch. "What do you think I know?" Haymitch finally asks sarcastically. "What do you want to hear, kid?"

"The truth!" Peeta's fists are clenched at his sides. "Is that so damn hard?"

Haymitch's eyes narrow and for the first time I truly think that Peeta is right. Haymitch is hiding something. He _does_ know something about District 13. I don't know if it's the hormones, the stress of the situation, or both, but this knowledge brings tears to my eyes. Because despite his gruff demeanor, I've come to care for Haymitch. He's family, and as twisted as it is, the closest thing I've had to a father in years. It hurts to know that he lied to me.

A sob must escape me because both Peeta and Haymitch's heads snap to me.

Haymitch studies me closely. "What's wrong with you, sweetheart?" he asks gruffly, trying to hide his concern.

I glance hopelessly at Peeta, who gives me the faintest of nods. All the fight as gone out of him, for the moment at least. "I'm pregnant," I say softly.

There's a short stretch of silence. Haymitch simply stares at me, disbelieving, for the longest time, before suddenly spinning to face Peeta, fury consuming his entire being as he begins to berate my boy with the bread. "What the hell were you thinking, kid?" Haymitch shouts. "You just couldn't keep it in your pants, could you?"

Peeta's anger returns in full force. "It's not like that!" he growls.

"It's not?" Haymitch snaps. "Cause that's the only way you knock up a girl."

"That girl is my wife!"

There's a very pregnant pause as Peeta realizes what he just revealed and Haymitch processes the new information. His sharp gaze darts between the both of us, trying to put the pieces together.

"What are you talking about?" he finally asks. "The wedding's not until . . ."

"We had a toasting," I speak up, not really thrilled by the fact that they've been talking (yelling) like I wasn't present. "I didn't want . . . I didn't want my wedding to be some _event_, some form of _entertainment_," I spit the word like it's something foul. "I wanted it to mean something. I wanted it to be just me and Peeta, because it was our moment and I wasn't going to share it with all of Panem."

"So how long have you two been 'married'?" Haymitch asks, his eyes narrowing.

"About three months," Peeta answers. "We had our toasting almost a week before the Quell announcement."

Haymitch sighs, running a hand through his long hair. I've never seen him truly stressed before. "What do you want me to say?" he finally asks, looking at Peeta.

"What do I want you to say?" Peeta repeats incredulously, his eyebrows disappearing under his blonde curls. "I want you to tell me that there's some place where Katniss can be safe, where my child will be safe. Because when Katniss wins the Quell, and she _will_ win, we're going to make sure of it. The moment Snow finds out about the baby, you know it's dead the moment it's born, maybe even before . . ." Peeta trails off, no doubt imagining the horror that could very well be in my future. "I'm not going to allow my child to be marked for death before they've even had the chance to live, Haymitch. If District 13 exists, and you know something about it, you had better damn well tell me, because Katniss and the baby are going to go there, and they're going to get away from this hell, from the Capitol, and from Snow."

"I can't stand the thought of my child suffering due to my decisions," Peeta continues, his voice slowly losing its anger. He's pleading now, and I finally see that Peeta is just as terrified as I am. He was just being strong for me, because we can't both afford to crumble. "I never meant to play a part in starting a rebellion, neither did Katniss, but Haymitch, I've never had something to fight for before, _someone_ to fight for. I've been wary of this rebellion for a long time. Yes, I want the Capitol gone, but I was hesitant to fight. I've got all the reason in the world now, Haymitch. The Capitol interfering with my life is one thing. Interfering with Katniss's life is another, but interfering with my child's life, a life that hasn't even truly begun, is inexcusable. I will _not_ allow my child to grow up in this world. I want a safe place, where I can watch him or her grow up happy and completely worry-free. No reapings. No Games. Just peace. So if there's any way that could possibly happen, and you know something, tell me." Peeta holds Haymitch's gaze, his blue eyes shining with a persuasive plea. "Please."

Haymitch sighs, sounding wearier than I've ever heard. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Is district 13 alive?" I ask, approaching the two of them before taking Peeta's hand and griping it tightly.

There's a long pause before Haymitch finally looks us directly in the eyes, almost challengingly, before answering, "Yes."

"Tell us everything," Peeta demands and Haymitch nods.

"Alright," he says, motioning to his little back porch where an old porch swing hangs opposite the rocking chair he'd previously occupied. "Let's sit. It's a long story."

It takes an hour for Haymitch to tell us everything, and at the end of his spiel, I'm speechless. Bonnie and Twill were right. District 13 is secretly alive, but not necessarily thriving. The survivors managed to move underground and since then, for the past seventy five years, they've been rebuilding. Now, it's like an entire city underground. There's a dining hall, a weapons center, and crops being grown (I'm still not quite sure how that worked). It was truly a city underground. And it was the center of the rebellion.

Of course, my first question was why the Capitol had left them alone all these years. Haymitch's answer was simple. Nuclear weapons. District 13 threatened to bomb the Capitol, so they made a deal. District 13 would pretend to be obliterated, and in return the Capitol would leave them alone. It sounded so simple that it took a long time for the fact to sink in. Just a simple power play was all it took to get the Capitol to leave District 13 alone. Nuclear weapons were their linchpin.

Ever since the end of the Dark Days, District 13 has been slowly rebuilding, preparing to start another rebellion. And lucky for me and Peeta, we provided the spark needed to spur years of planning into action. Haymitch tells us that he was contacted by District 13 years ago, but he ignored them. It wasn't until Peeta and I that he really began to keep in contact with his underground sources. He tells us of all the districts that are also in contact with District 13, and unsurprisingly they're all districts that have rebelled—3, 4, 7, 8, and 11.

But what completely floors me is when Haymitch explains that the leaders of the rebellion in each district are the _victors_ of the Hunger Games. The irony does not escape me. An older couple named Beetee and Wiress from 3. Finnick Odair, a bronze-haired, gorgeous victor from 4. Johanna Mason from District 7, who won her games by pretending to be a weakling before viciously killing the rest of the competition. Chaff, one of Haymitch's friends, from District 11.

And then there's Peeta and I, the star-crossed lovers from District 12.

All of this has my head spinning, but I swear my heart stops when Haymitch leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and looks at Peeta and me intently. "Right after the Quell announcement I was contacted," he explains, before pausing for a few seconds and dropping the bomb that almost makes me faint. "They plan to break you out of the arena."

Of course, this news sends Peeta into a fury, because Haymitch has known this for months and watched us worry ourselves to death, and the fact that I'm pregnant really isn't helping him keep a lid on his anger. I put a hand on his shoulder, silently pleading with him to calm down, and I'm relieved when he relaxes beneath my hand.

"You knew this the entire time?" Peeta barely controls the anger in his voice. "You were going to let us waltz into the arena, thinking we're going to die, all the while knowing that there was going to be a break out?"

"You wouldn't be so pissed if Katniss wasn't pregnant, and you know it," Haymitch retorts and it effectively shuts Peeta up, because Haymitch is right. Yes, I would have been angry with Haymitch for keeping us in the dark about the plan, but now that I'm pregnant I'm furious. The same goes for Peeta.

Being pregnant changes a lot of things, like my entire perspective on life.

"So what's the plan?" I ask excitedly. "How are we going to break out?"

Haymitch hesitates before admitting, "Plutarch Heavensbee is on our side." I feel my jaw drop, and it takes me a moment before my brain can formulate a response. Plutarch Heavensbee? The Head Gamemaker? "There's a force field surrounding the arena. Beetee and Wiress think that they can disable it long enough for a hovercraft to come in and get you out."

Peeta opens his mouth to ask more questions, but Haymitch interrupts him, looking fierce. "That's enough questions," he says sharply. "I've told you enough. Now get out of here."

Peeta gets up to leave, but I stay on the rickety porch swing, looking at Haymitch. "Why wouldn't you tell us?" I ask, still hurt by the fact that he'd lied. Haymitch has never lied to me.

"To protect you," Haymitch answers, allowing some of the worry and love he has for us to show. "Cause this might all go to hell, and even the best laid plans find a way to fail. If one of you got captured . . ." Haymitch trails off. "Well, the less you knew the better."

It's a harsh truth. This plan might very well fail, and what would happen then? What if we're captured by the Capitol? Haymitch is right. The less we know the better. But I can't focus on that. I have to hope for success, if only for my child. He or she, they're something to fight for. Before, the rebellion, overthrowing the Capitol . . . it was all for me, for me to be free of them. And yes, for my family and Peeta, too, but now . . . now it's all about my child.

It's scary how much I already love this child. I will do _anything_ for my child. There is no line that I will not cross, and I know Peeta feels the same. There's such a strange fierceness to this love that it's nearly overwhelming.

"Let's go home, Katniss," Peeta says, breaking through my reverie. I glance up at him, and know by the tenseness in his shoulders that he's still upset. Me? I'm too tired to be upset.

Nonetheless, I rise from my seat and take his waiting hand. Together, we walk to his house. I immediately head to the kitchen because I'm struck with the sudden urge to eat something chocolaty. I find some chocolate muffins that Peeta must have made earlier and grab two. I'm aware of Peeta's eyes following my every move, but I ignore him for the moment. The chocolate muffins in my hands are much more important.

I begin to nibble on one as I make my way up the stairs to the bedroom. Once I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed, I truly focus my energies on the muffins before me. The thought occurs to me that these wonderfully delicious chocolate muffins should not have such importance, but as of this moment, they are of the _utmost_ importance. Oh, great. Food cravings.

Peeta sits beside me on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard and stretching his legs out in front of him. For a moment we're completely silent. I eat the muffins and Peeta just sits there beside me, staring rather intently at the wall, as if he's trying to will it to crumble with his gaze. After I savor the last chocolaty bite of my second muffin, I turn to him, but he doesn't look at me. He's still staring at the wall.

So, to make it absolutely impossible for him to stare at the wall any longer, I straddle his hips and place my hands on his chest, absently noting how tense his muscles are. "I don't think the wall has any answers," I tell him.

Peeta's eyes finally meet mine, and I'm still able to see the anger he's trying to bury. I never really know what to do when Peeta's angry. It's such a rare occurrence and usually it's gone just as quick as it appeared. I don't know how to help him. "Why are you so angry?" I ask.

"Why am I angry?" Peeta repeats, looking at me dubiously. "Why wouldn't I be? Haymitch lied right to our faces. He's been lying, for _months_. He would have let us go into the arena completely blind."

"He had his reasons," I argue, wondering why I'm taking Haymitch's side. "And it was a good one, you know that."

Peeta sighs heavily. "I know," he says. "I know, but right now I just can't think. I don't know what think. All I know is that I have to protect you . . . I just, god, I just don't know how!" Peeta stares at me entreatingly, like I can give him the answers he's seeking, but I can only stare back at him sympathetically. "I can't lose you or the baby. Hell, I'm still trying to get used to the idea that I'm going to be a father!"

"I feel so _helpless_," he whispers as his arms wrap around me. "Going back into the arena was hard enough to grasp, but now . . . I can't stand the thought of you stepping one foot into the Capitol, let alone the arena."

I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder as my arms wrap around his neck. "I'm scared, too," I whisper into his neck, blinking back tears once again.

_Scared_ is really an understatement. I'm terrified. I'm living out my worst nightmare. A child of mine falling victim to the Capitol, and he or she isn't even close to being born yet. What makes it worse is that there's truly nothing that I can do. I can't avoid going into the arena, no matter how much I wish I could find a way. If I tried to run, the Capitol would catch me, I have no doubt. Where would I go, anyway? Try to find my way to District 13 like Bonnie and Twill? And that's only if I found a way to avoid a twenty-foot high electrical fence. No, there's no avoiding going back into the arena.

It's just that the thought of facing the Quell, pregnant, when my fellow tributes are _victors, _threatens to freeze me with fear. Honestly, can I not catch a break? My child will be fighting to live before he or she has even truly _begun_ to live. It's not fair. It's just not fair.

"But I've already had my meltdown," I say softly, trying to put a little levity in my voice. Because, if I do say so myself, this morning was absolutely the biggest meltdown I've ever had, even worse than the night of the Quell announcement—times ten. "My biggest worry was if you'd still love me," I admit sheepishly.

"What?" Peeta pulls away from me, looking at me wide-eyed. "You thought that just because you were pregnant, I wouldn't love you anymore?"

"I was panicking," I try to explain myself. "I know it was stupid, but I just . . ." I sigh. "I was just so scared . . ." My eyes meet Peeta's. "I still am," I admit softly, and Peeta holds me tighter as I continue, "The fact that I was pregnant hit me so hard, and all I could think about was the Quell and Snow and then there was you. I knew that once you knew I was pregnant, you'd do everything you could to get me out of the arena, including dying for me, and I just . . . the thought that . . . you just can't do that to me, Peeta," I finish in a whisper.

"But don't you see?" Peeta asks, gently taking my face in his hands. "I can't let anything happen to you and the baby. I'll do anything to keep you safe."

I shake my head. "You don't get it, Peeta. I can't survive without you . . . I don't know _how_ to survive without you anymore." I quickly blink back the tears that I feel coming on, and whether it's my exasperation of how teary I've been today, or simply the need to feel something besides an overwhelming sense of dread and fear, determination fills me.

"This is how it's going to work, okay?" I hold Peeta's gaze, trying to instill some of my own determination within him. "We're going to go into the arena, and you can be the overprotective husband that I know you will be . . ." Peeta actually cracks a smile at that. "And then we'll find a way to get out of the arena, together, and then we're going to give Snow hell, got it?"

Peeta leans forward and gives me a kiss. "Got it," he murmurs against my lips.

When we go to bed that night, Peeta wraps his arm firmly around my waist, pressing my back against his chest. His lips linger on my neck as his hand comes to rest on my stomach, and for the first time all day, I feel safe. Along with that feeling of security, another feeling settles within me . . . an overwhelming determination, an unremitting desire to protect my child. My hand comes to rest on top of Peeta's, and I come to one irrevocable conclusion.

I will protect my child until my last breath.

* * *

**And now you know where I got the title for this story . . . aside from the fact that my inspiration for this story comes from the song, "My Last Breath" by Evanescence. Anyhoo, the Quell is almost here! Soon we get to meet Finnick and Johanna! WOO!**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from Peeta!  
**

**"_Fantastic_ things happen in this bed."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Hey guys! Very short note here at the beginning. I'm beyond thrilled that the majority of you like where this story is heading. For those of you who are still wary, I can only ask you to trust that I know exactly what I'm doing. :)  
**

**Movie quote for the day is another quote from my favorite movie ever, _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid._  
**

**"Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind." - Butch Cassidy  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."  
**

* * *

Chapter 23

_A high pitched wail cuts me to my core. Horror causes me to freeze, and I swear that my heart stops completely for a brief second before beginning to beat frantically. I'd recognize that wail anywhere . . ._

_I'm running before I realize my legs are moving, sprinting faster than I ever have before. The trees and vines cut at my face and my arms, but I plow through them like they're nothing but a meek thread. The ground beneath my feet is uneven and causes me to stumble frequently, but I do not slow. In fact, I only move faster._

_Another wail echoes throughout the arena, and the sound brings tears to my eyes, but I blink them back furiously as I continue my rampage through the forest. Finally, I reach the meadow where sweet, little Rue died, where I killed Marvel._

_But this time, as I burst into the clearing, it's not Rue and Marvel I see. President Snow, dressed as immaculately as ever in a crisp black suit with the ever-present white rose in his lapel, is standing in the meadow._

_In his arms is my baby._

"_Let him go," I beg. "Please! Your fight is with me, not him! He's innocent!"_

_President Snow chuckles evilly. "But my dear, Katniss, no one is innocent."_

_My heart threatens to shatter. "Please," I plead with him. "Please, just let him go! Take me instead."_

"_But why would I take you?" Snow asks with a sneer. "What are you? Just a girl who bit off more than she could chew. You're of no use to me. But your husband on the other hand . . ."_

_Suddenly, Peeta appears in the clearing, bloodied and broken, only able to stand on his feet because of the support of two Capitol men. Still, he's able to meet my gaze, and a sob tears through my chest when I see the defeat in his eyes. _

"_You know, Katniss, I'm feeling generous." My eyes snap back to President Snow, who is still holding my squirming, wailing child in his arms. "I can't possibly kill both your husband and your son. No, that would be too cruel, even for me. How about I let one live? I'll even let you decide!"_

_What? He wants me to choose? "I can't—" _

"_Katniss." Immediately, my attention is on Peeta. "Save him, Katniss. Save our son."_

_Tears begin to fall down my cheeks. "Peeta . . ." I whisper brokenly, cringing when a particularly harsh wail pierces the air._

"_Katniss, just let me go," Peeta pleads with me. "I'll still be with you, just in a different way."_

_My eyes fall on our son, fruitlessly trying to fight his way out of Snow's arms. I see his little tuft of blonde hair, and my heart breaks. "Okay," I answer, but whether I'm addressing Peeta or President Snow, I don't know._

"_Wonderful." Snow smiles. "Who shall you save?"_

"_Give me my baby," I demand, my voice cracking. I take a step forward, but Snow takes a step back._

_An ugly, derisive sneer appears on President Snow's face. "You actually thought I'd let you save one of them?" He laughs manically. "How can I let either of them live? I want you to break, Katniss. If you break, the rebellion breaks. I can't allow you to have anything to fight for. Without your little family you're nothing."_

_My son cries for me one last time before . . ._

"No!"

I shoot up into a sitting position, sweating and breathing heavily. A wave of nausea hits me and I bolt from the bed, barely making it to the toilet in time to throw up everything in my stomach. I'm trembling with the reticent fear from my nightmare, and when I feel a hand on my shoulder, I instinctively jerk away from the contact and blindly swing my fist.

A strong hand catches my wrist. "Hey, it's just me," a soft voice assures me.

Peeta sits down on the bathroom floor beside me, and I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. He doesn't ask questions, at least not yet. Regrettably, in the past three weeks this has happened enough that it's almost a routine now. Since learning that I was pregnant, my nightmares have come back full force, and they're crueler than ever, relentless in their attempts to drive me insane. Every dream is similar in the theme that my baby dies, that I can't save him. It's always a boy, never a girl. Peeta is usually present, too. Sometimes he'll die trying to save me. Sometimes he'll die trying to save the baby. Either way, death is ever-present in my nightmares.

"Want to talk about it?" Peeta asks quietly, and I shake my head. Normally, I might tell him a few details, but this nightmare was the worst.

All I can manage to say is, "It was terrible."

"It's not real," Peeta says soothingly, and I feel his lips in my hair. "As you can see, I'm definitely alive. And you're alive."

_And the baby is alive_, goes unsaid.

Honestly, it makes sense that I would have my worst nightmare yet this morning. The reaping is today. One year ago, I was Katniss Everdeen, a sixteen year old girl from the Seam. I stood in the square praying that my name wouldn't be called, that Gale's name wouldn't be called, giving no real thought to Prim. But of course, Prim was called, and I volunteered to take her place. I willingly went into the arena.

This year, I'm Katniss Mellark, a seventeen year old girl from the Victor's Village. This year, I have no choice but to go into the arena. My fate is set.

And hopefully everything goes according to plan.

Yeah, I know, trying to plan fate. So sue me for attempting to conquer the insurmountable.

"Go back to bed," I tell Peeta, giving his shoulder a gentle shove before I get to my feet. "I'll be there in a minute."

"You better be," he says with a small smile before leaving the bathroom.

The moment he's gone I sigh heavily and look at my reflection in the mirror. Aside from the slightly crazed look in my eyes, I look relatively normal. The faint beginnings of shadows can be seen under my eyes, but hopefully with another few hours of sleep that will be taken care of. Peeta and I already told ourselves that we weren't getting out of bed until noon or later, so that gives me at least another six hours of sleep.

I brush my teeth, getting rid of the acidic taste in my mouth, and then splash some water on my face, if only to prolong my solitude in the bathroom. It's not as though I'm avoiding Peeta. I just hate that I'm being so weak right now, waking up screaming in the middle of the night and crying endlessly. My moods are all over the place sometimes, and the littlest things can either set me off or make me cry. And then there was morning sickness, the bane of my existence. It isn't even aptly named because my nausea is not exclusive to the morning hours.

And poor Peeta, he's just been along for the ride, but he never complains. Not when I yell at him for no reason, or when I suddenly burst into tears. He'll hold my hair when I'm puking my guts out, despite my adamant protests that he leave. And then there are the nightmares, where I will wake him up with my screaming and thrashing. He always holds me until I fall asleep again, even if it takes hours. I don't deserve him.

I decide that I've postponed my return to bed long enough. I flip off the bathroom light and navigate my way through the darkness of the bedroom. The moment I slip under the covers, Peeta pulls me into his arms. We don't say anything. I simply burrow into his side, and Peeta's arms tighten around me. Only then do I allow my eyes to close.

The next time I wake up, bright sun is streaming through the window. I blink against the sudden brightness, and my first thought is not how lovely the sun feels on my face. My first thought is how, for once, I don't automatically feel the need vomit. Glorious.

In fact, my mood threatens to lift considerably until I remember my nightmare. My mood plummets. The reaping is today. I lift my head from Peeta's chest to glance at the clock on the nightstand. It's a quarter 'til noon. Great. Only a little more than two hours until I'm going to allow myself to walk into the waiting clutches of the Capitol, of President Snow. Memories of my nightmare are not making my situation any better. I don't want my child anywhere near the Capitol, let alone the arena.

But I have no choice.

Choices. They're funny, kind of whimsical things. They can be simple, like whether you want grape jelly or strawberry jelly on your toast. Or, they can be not so simple, like if it comes down to it, who will I save? Peeta or myself, and by extension the baby? I hate that I know the answer. Answers are another thing. Sometimes you're just better off not knowing the answers. It's simpler. Less guilt.

Peeta begins to stir beneath me, and I watch as a pair of sleepy blue eyes gradually becomes more alert. He glances at the clock, sees the time, and then groans pathetically. I can't help but laugh as flips us over so that his head is resting on my chest, his arm lying heavily over my waist, effectively pinning me to the bed, which I'm pretty sure was his intent.

Unable to help myself, my fingers begin to comb through his hair, and Peeta sighs contentedly. He'll never admit it, but he loves it when I play with his hair. We stay like this for a minute before Peeta murmurs, "I don't want to go. I want to stay right here."

"In bed?" I try to joke, desperately attempting to insert some levity.

I feel Peeta smile against my shoulder. "_Fantastic_ things happen in this bed."

A soft laugh escapes me, and Peeta lifts his head to smile at me. "Very true," I admit, as I trace his jaw absently with my fingers.

I study his face as I continue to trace his features. Strong jaw. Straight nose. Perfect lips. His blue eyes, so like a clear summer sky, are staring at me with amusement and love. I do love his eyes. They're his best feature.

My eyes continue to study him, taking in his blonde curls that are threatening to hang in his eyes if he doesn't cut them soon. His skin has a sun-kissed look, giving him a warm glow. My hand runs down his back, noting the feel of the muscles beneath my fingertips.

"You're really handsome, you know that?" I blurt, as if just coming to this conclusion.

Peeta cocks his head to the side, a surprised chuckle escaping him. I can't help but think he looks even better when he's smiling. "Thanks," he says, amusement ringing in his tone. "And you're really beautiful, you know that?"

I scoff. "You have no choice but to say that."

"That doesn't mean it's not true," Peeta replies before claiming my lips in a sweet kiss that makes my stomach flutter. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

A deep blush stains my cheeks. "I haven't been feeling too beautiful lately."

"You'll never be able to accept a compliment, will you?" Peeta shakes his head, but the smile never leaves his face.

"Nope," I say, popping the 'p.'

We fall into silence once more as the weight of the reaping presses down upon us, squashing our attempts to lighten the mood. As if we're both acting on some silent command, both of us look at the clock to check the time. Noon.

Two more hours.

"We need to get up," I say quietly, but neither of us moves.

Fifteen minutes later and we still haven't budged. "It's crazy to think how much things have changed," Peeta says suddenly, breaking the silence. "I mean, think of where we were a year ago today, and then where we are now."

"Hmm," I agree. "Let's see . . . in one year, you have managed to completely turn my life upside down. I'm in love, married, and pregnant. Three things I never thought would happen. Way to go, Mellark."

Peeta looks me in the eyes, searching. His hand settles on my cheek. "You don't regret anything?" he asks, and I wonder how long this question has been lurking in the back of his mind.

"Well, I won't pretend that things wouldn't have been much simpler if you hadn't come into the picture," I tell him honestly, before adding with a soft smile. "But I don't regret a single minute of the time I've had with you. Sometimes simple isn't always better."

Peeta smiles. "Well, that's good to hear," he says, hiding his relief. "Because I know that you never wanted this—"

"No," I interrupt him. "I never _thought_ I wanted this. Big difference." I reach up to capture his lips, and for a moment everything fades. All that matters is the feel of Peeta's lips moving with mine. When we break apart, we're both a little breathless. "I need you, Peeta. Just because I didn't realize it before, doesn't mean it wasn't always true."

Peeta kisses me one more time, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away with a heavy sigh. "We really do need to get up," he murmurs, glaring at the clock that tells us it's half past noon.

I nod and make the first move, sliding out from under Peeta and making my way into the bathroom. A shower sounds lovely, and once I'm under the hot spray I feel some of the tenseness in my muscles go away.

It doesn't take Peeta and I more than half an hour to get ready. Neither of us makes any real attempt to dress up, at least not like last year. We have no one to impress. Everyone knows us. Peeta wears jeans and a blue dress shirt with the sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows, and my compromise is a simple, white summer dress. However, the true glory of my outfit is shown by my mockingjay pin, which is fastened to the dress.

We spend the rest of the time before the reaping at my house with Prim, my mother, and the Mellarks. Everyone tries to keep the mood light, but Rye's jokes tend to fall flat. Chris's teasing isn't as light, and Mr. Mellark just seems to alternate glances at my mother and then at Peeta. Prim sits on the floor leaning against my legs, absently petting Maya.

When it's time to head to the square, it almost feels like a funeral procession and the comparison does not set my mind at ease. Peeta and I walk hand in hand, leading our families to the square. We run into Haymitch on the way, and together we all walk to the square.

The reaping is really a joke. When it comes time to separate, Peeta gives me a long kiss that somehow doesn't seem indecent in such a public setting. It's too pure. I know the cameras are probably already on us, but I really don't care. Let them see what the Capitol is doing. Let them see how they're tearing the star-crossed lovers of District 12 apart.

I stand by myself in the roped-off section for the girl tributes. I'm oddly calm, considering everything. Maybe it's my acceptance of the fact that there's no running from this. Or maybe it has to do with the hope of breaking out of the arena and escaping to District 13.

Effie, her wig a metallic gold, walks up to the microphone and for once she has none of the pep in her speech like she usually does. She has to pause frequently to bat back tears, especially when she announces that it's time to pick the girl tribute. Really, it's ridiculous, and I'm already making my way to the stage as she reads my name. Then, she calls Haymitch's name, but Peeta is already volunteering before she finishes reading the ballot.

It's an odd sense of déjà vu when Peeta meets me on the stage. The anthem plays, just like last year. And just like last year, Peeta's fingers twine with mine and together, we turn to face the cameras, presenting a united front.

We're ushered off the stage, but instead of being led into a holding room like last year, we're met by Head Peacekeeper Thread. He sneers and informs us of a 'new procedure' this year. We don't get an hour of goodbyes. Instead, we're led to a car, Haymitch and Effie a few steps behind us. There are no cameras that greet us, at the car or at the train station, and when the doors shut behind us, I immediately feel trapped.

To try and alleviate the feeling, I move to a window and stand there until the forests of District 12 have long since faded. I feel Peeta come to stand behind me. His arms wrap around my waist and his lips are at my ear. "We'll see them again," he assures quietly. "Promise."

I honestly don't know. Even now that I know some of the details about District 13's plan to break us out of the arena, it seems even more ridiculous and farfetched. Too desperate. Can a single wire really do that much damage? I shake my head, not wanting to think about it too much. All I had was hope and a will to survive.

Dinner is incredibly tense and awkward. A sense of prevailing doom seems to settle over everyone, no matter how many times Peeta and Effie attempt to initiate some conversation. "I like your new hair, Effie," Peeta says, breaking the silence.

"Oh, thank you, dear," Effie gives him a small smile that holds none of her usual brightness. "I had it especially done to match Katniss's pin. I was thinking we might get you a golden ankle band and maybe find Haymitch a gold bracelet or something so we could all look like a team," she explains.

I wonder how much Effie knows. Judging by her idea of matching my mockingjay, she's not a true rebel. A real rebel doesn't get matching gold accessories. A real rebel stamps my mockingjay onto a cracker, to be eaten at a moment's notice. But surely Effie isn't completely oblivious to mine and Peeta's plight. Well, she doesn't know about the baby, or the fact that Peeta and I are married. Only Prim and Haymitch know that, and not even Prim knows that Peeta and I are married.

But Effie must realize how tense things are in Panem, in the Capitol, because for all of her apparent blind bubbly persona, she actually possesses a fair amount of wit. I wonder what side she will choose.

However, these thoughts are thrown by the wayside when a plate of chocolate custard and cherries is set in front of me. Peeta and I discovered fairly early that my main food craving is chocolate. I love chocolate. At all times of the day. Morning, noon, night, is does _not_ matter. I see Peeta trying to hide a smile as I dig in to my desert, and he doesn't even attempt to eat his, scooting his plate over to me without asking if I want it or not. He knows the answer.

I just manage to glimpse Haymitch's eye roll.

When I've managed to scrape every single bit of chocolate off both my plates, Effie suggests that we move into the sitting room to watch the recap of the reapings. I get comfy on the couch, folding my legs underneath me, as I wait for Peeta to fetch his notebook. He returns not a moment later, notebook in hand, and immediately takes a seat beside me.

I try and focus on the tributes, like I did last year, but hardly any of them make an impression on me. I recognize most of them, having seen them as mentors or just in the Capitol during the Games in general, but some I have no idea who they are—too doped up on drugs or drunk on alcohol. Years of addiction having made them unrecognizable.

Unsurprisingly, the tribute pools are the largest in Districts 1, 2, and 4, but each district manages to come up with at least one male and female tribute. I note the tributes from District 1, a brother and sister who won in consecutive years when I was younger. Brutus, a volunteer from District 2, rushes up on the stage much like Cato did last year. He looks just as eager for a fight.

However, when I see Beetee and Wiress take the stage as the tributes from District 3, my gaze becomes sharper. Haymitch told Peeta and I of the rebel victors, how they were going to be our allies in the arena. It's up to Beetee and Wiress to break us out. Without them we're dead. After only hearing about them from Haymitch, it's nice to put a name to a face. District 4 takes the screen and I watch as Finnick Odair, an exceptionally good-looking man in his mid twenties, who also happens to be our ally, takes the stage. A beautiful brunette is called as his fellow tribute, but she immediately begins to scream. In response, an old lady who needs a cane to walk up to the stage volunteers to take the screaming girl's place. Johanna Mason from District 7 is called, another one of my allies. We also have the fact that we're the only living female victors from our districts in common.

The rest of the tributes are called, and the only one that really sticks out to me is Chaff from 11, who I know is a particular friend of Haymitch. And then it's time for the reaping from District 12. I'm called, and am struck by the seemingly defiant look on my face. Haymitch is called and when Peeta volunteers the commentators are just about beside themselves in apparent anguish. I actually hear tears in the voice of the female announcer as she says that it seems like the odds will never be in our favor. But of course, in true Capitol style, she pulls herself together and announces that these games are sure to be the best yet!

After the reapings are done, Effie makes a few more comments about the victors and how it's a shame, particularly for the female tribute from District 8, Cecelia, who had to disengage herself from three small children—my heart had clinched at that. With another sigh, Effie leaves the room, Haymitch soon after, but not before giving both Peeta and I a look that communicated something along the lines of, 'no funny business.'

I wanted to point out that I was already pregnant. Not like that advice would do me much good, now.

The moment he leaves, Peeta and I both turn to each other and laugh. "You know, he was weird before," I say lightly. "But now that he's being all paternal, it's really freaking me out."

Peeta chuckles, shaking his head, "Don't tell him that."

"He'll deny it," I agree.

"Why don't you go to bed?" Peeta suggests, and I scowl at him. "What?" he defends. "It's been a long day."

"So come to bed with me," I retort, raising my eyebrows and Peeta sighs.

Just like I'd known he would, Peeta has become the overprotective husband/dad-to-be. He's still a sweetheart, but he'll tell me to rest or to eat. He tends to walk slightly in front of me, and somehow his hand will always find my stomach when he's holding me. It'd be cute if it weren't so annoying.

"I'll be there," he tries to sway me, but I defiantly fold my arms over my chest, and raise my eyebrows. "Eventually," he adds, and I scowl. "I'm just going to review my notes awhile. Get a clear picture of who we're up against."

In other words, he's going to study them so he knows how better to protect me until we're able to break out of the arena. "Then I'll sleep here," I say stubbornly.

Peeta sighs in defeat, but a wry smile appears on his face. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

I smile innocently as I straddle his lap and rest my hands on his chest. "But in a good way, right?"

"A very, very good way," Peeta assures me, his voice steadily dipping lower and it makes me shiver. Did I mention my hormones are totally out of whack?

Just as my lips brush against his, a nervous cough causes both of us to part. Frustration threatens to make me grab the nearest sharp object and throw it at whoever interrupted us, but instead, I control my more violent urges and make mine and Peeta's position slightly more appropriate. I shift to sit beside Peeta, who is looking curiously at the attendant that is standing awkwardly in front of us, holding a tray with two cups.

"Yes?" Peeta prompts politely, though I can tell that he's trying to hide his amusement.

"Oh, I, um, noticed that you and Ms. Everdeen . . ." It took all the effort I had not to correct him immediately. I was no longer Ms. Everdeen. I was Mrs. Mellark. ". . . were up late, and thought that a nice, warm drink might be appreciated. So, I, uh, took the liberty to make you some warm milk." He tries to smile, but he's so nervous it falls flat. I wonder what's making him so awkward.

"Thank you," Peeta says with a smile. "That's very kind of you."

The attendant relaxes a little, Peeta's easy-going nature seeming to slowly set the young man at ease. "I added some honey for sweetness," the attendant adds. "And some spices."

My eyes narrow ever so slightly as I study the attendant. Is that pity in his eyes? He looks like he wants to say more to us, but he shakes his head and backs out of the room. When he's gone I look to Peeta, who has a thoughtful expression on his face.

"What's with him?" I ask.

Peeta frowns a little, and I see a plan formulating in his eyes. "I think he feels bad for us."

I nod, remembering the pity I saw in the attendant's eyes. "Maybe," I agree casually, but my attention is focused on the milk that the attendant brought. I grab a cup and take a tentative sip. My eyes light up at the taste. The milk is delicious.

"Seriously, though," Peeta regains my attention. "I don't think the people in the Capitol are going to be all that happy about our going back in," he says. "Or the other victors. They get attached to their champions."

"What are you planning?" I ask him curiously. "I know that face."

"Nothing concrete," Peeta answers ambiguously. "But we can use the Capitol's feelings to our advantage . . . we just need the right words to act as ammunition . . ." he trails off, his thoughts overcoming him.

I sit quietly as he schemes, wondering what crazy, brilliant plan he's going to come up with. Planning is his and Haymitch's realm of expertise, not mine. I'd rather just jump into the situation and wing it. I'm impulsive, I can't help it.

My attention settles on the box of tapes in front of us, and I begin to rifle through them. Effie only gave us the tapes of the games for victors who are still alive. I pass over the year that Brutus, the male tributes from District 2, won, and just as I'm about to move away from the box, a title catches my eye. The tape's title is: 50, Haymitch Abernathy.

The second Quarter Quell.

I take the tape out of the box and set it in my lap, debating. In all the tapes of previous games that Peeta, Haymitch, and I had watched in preparation for the Quell, we had avoided two tapes. The seventy-fourth Hunger Games and the fiftieth Hunger Games. It had been an unspoken agreement. None of us wanted to relive our games.

But Haymitch's games were the only Quell we had available. It would be wise to watch the tape, to see how Quell's work and how they're different. Any little clue would help. Even if there was a plan to break us out of the arena, it didn't mean that Peeta and I, or the rest of the allies, wouldn't be in any danger. No, the danger would be just the same. Tributes would still try to kill us and so would the Gamemakers. Peeta and I just had to survive until District 13 could break us out, which could be anywhere from two days to more than a week.

Haymitch hadn't a clue as to what the arena might be like, so Peeta and I were on our own as to how we were going to face it and live long enough to be rescued. We need all the information we can get, and if watching Haymitch's games could possibly help . . .

"We should watch this," I say, breaking whatever thoughtful trance Peeta had been in. His blue eyes settle on the tape in my hands and he frowns.

"I don't know, Katniss," he hesitates. "It's a big invasion to Haymitch's privacy, or it feels like it anyway."

"It's the only Quell we have," I argue. "We don't have to tell Haymitch we saw it."

Peeta stares at the tape in my hands, debating for a second more, before putting the tape in. I curl up into his side as he drapes an arm around my shoulders and together we watch the fiftieth Hunger Games unfold. The editors focused more on Haymitch than anyone else, since he was the victor, but we still watch every reaping from all twelve districts. The sheer number of tributes, twice as many as usual, astounds me. When they show District 12's reaping, I'm waiting for Haymitch to be called, but another name catches my attention.

Maysilee Donner. Her blonde hair and blue eyes tell me that she's a merchant, but that's not what pulls me up short. My eyes focus on the two blonde girls that are hugging Maysilee. "I think that's my mom," I say as my eyes find the young girl on the right. Seeing my mother's image shocks me, because now I know that my mother's beauty was never over exaggerated. Even in tears, she's unquestionably beautiful. My eyes focus on the other crying girl hugging Maysilee, and frown when I see that she looks just like Maysilee . . . and a lot like another person I know, too.

"Madge," I say, looking to Peeta for an explanation.

"That's her mother," he explains. "She and Maysilee were twins. My father told me that once."

Haymitch is called next, and I'm struck by how different he looks. Young. Strong. And, oddly enough, fairly good-looking. But ever present is the calculating, analytical look in his Seam grey eyes. Haymitch takes the stage, and then we're thrown into the parade.

In stereotypical form, District 12 is dressed in ugly, baggy coalminer's outfits. The parade flashes by, and so do the interviews, but since Haymitch is the winner, we get to see his entire interview with Caesar Flickerman. Caesar looks exactly the same then as he does now, dressed in the same twinkling midnight blue suit, except for his hair and makeup, which are dark green.

"So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" he asks.

"I don't see that it makes much difference," Haymitch says indifferently with a tinge of arrogance. "They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same."

I can't fight the wry smile on my face, as I look up at Peeta. "He didn't have to reach far for that, did he?" Arrogant. Indifferent. Snarky. That was Haymitch.

Next is the arena, and we're shown the point of view of the tributes as they rise up into the arena from their Launch Rooms. I can't help the gasp that escapes me once I get a view of the arena. In one word, the arena is beautiful, absolutely beautiful. A lush, green, flowering meadow stretches across in front of them, the golden horn of the Cornucopia gleaming in the sunlight. A blue sky so clear it's unreal, birds flying overhead. A large, snow-capped mountain is to the right, while sparse woods not unlike the woods in my own games are to the left and behind.

The tributes, much like me, are struck by the beauty, even Haymitch, though his eyes only lift in pleasure for a second before he reverts back to his usual scowl. When the gong goes off, Haymitch is the first to reach the Cornucopia, taking advantage of the other tributes beautified stupor. He already has two backpacks and a knife and is running toward the woods before the others even reach the Cornucopia.

As the Games progress, it's clear that the beauty of the arena is deadly. Almost everything is poisonous. Fruit. Flowers. Water. Everything is poison. The only safe food and water are from the packs at the Cornucopia. Even the animals are dangerous. Cute, little fluffy-tailed squirrels turn into vicious maneaters and attack Haymitch. He's lucky to get away. Stings from beautiful butterflies bring agony, but Haymitch trudges on, always moving in the same direction, keeping his back to the mountain.

I'm surprised to see Maysilee Donner prove to be quite resourceful as well. In her pack that she grabbed from the Cornucopia is a blow gun with a dozen darts. Utilizing the many poisons available in the arena, she makes a deadly weapon and uses it well, killing three tributes that cross her path.

Almost a week into the games, the previously peaceful mountain explodes, spewing hot, molten lava. The eruption wipes out half the Career Pack and a handful of the other tributes. With the volcano erupting and the meadow providing nothing in terms of concealment, the remaining tributes—thirteen in total—flee to the woods.

Haymitch continues his trek through the woods, never faltering in his direction. However, what with thirteen tributes confined to the woods, confrontations are bound to ensue, and a day later Haymitch is attacked by three Careers. Reacting with surprising speed, Haymitch is able to kill two of them, but the third disarms him. Even though I know that Haymitch wins the games, when I see the Career's blade at Haymitch's throat, nerves and a sense of dread settle heavily in my stomach. Peeta, as if sensing my distress, tightens his arm around me reassuringly.

To my shock, Maysilee Donner is the one who saves the day, killing the Career with a dart from her blowgun. "We'd live longer with the two of us," she states and Haymitch seems to debate her offer of alliance for only a moment before nodding.

"Guess you proved that."

Like Peeta and I, Haymitch and Maysilee do better together. More food, more water, more rest. Haymitch keeps his steady direction as he trails through the woods, ignoring Maysilee's questions about where he's going. Finally, Maysilee puts her foot down, refusing to go another step until Haymitch tells her what he's trying to find.

"It has to end somewhere, right?" Haymitch questions. "The arena can't go on forever."

"What do you expect to find?" Maysilee asks as they resume walking.

"I don't know, but maybe there's something we can use."

Eventually, Haymitch and Maysilee do reach the end of the arena, a rocky, desert-like cliff face. When Haymitch's looks over the edge, all you see is a jagged, rocky bottom. "That's all there is Haymitch," Maysilee says. "Let's go back."

"No," Haymitch shakes his head. "I'm staying here."

Maysilee shrugs. "There's only five of us left," she says logically. "May as well say goodbye now, anyway. I don't want it to come down to you and me."

Haymitch doesn't even look up at her as he answers, "Okay." His attention is focused on the cliff face.

Maysilee walks away and we're left with Haymitch, who begins to walk along the edge of the cliff. He looks as though he's trying to figure something out. Exasperated, he sits down and kicks some pebbles over the side of the cliff . . . and a minute later the pebbles shoot back up and land beside him.

A light enters Haymitch's eyes and he quickly gets up and finds a fist-sized rock. He lobs it over the edge of the cliff and waits. After a second or two, the rock flies out of the gorge and lands in Haymitch's hand, causing him to laugh. But his laugh is abruptly cut off when a shriek pierces the air. Haymitch takes off running to Maysilee, but he doesn't come to her aid quickly enough. He arrives just in time to see a flock of bright pink birds with sharp beaks skewer her through the neck. Haymitch holds her hand as she dies, and I can't help but be thrown back into my own games. Being with Peeta in the cave, watching helplessly as he faded. Or on the top of the Cornucopia after he fought with the mutts, slowly bleeding out. I sympathize with Haymitch.

The games quickly come to a head later that day. One tribute dies from combat and another is attacked by yet another ferocious pack of cute, fluffy squirrels. This leaves Haymitch and a girl from District 1 to fight for the crown. It's bloody and brutal. The girl is bigger than Haymitch, but still every bit as fast. Eventually, both of them are too weak from blood loss and their injuries to fight any longer.

Haymitch, sensing the end is near, resorts to fleeing back to the cliff, holding in his intestines all the while. The District 1 girl stumbles along after him, an ax in one hand while the other tries to staunch the blood flow from her empty eye socket. Haymitch reaches the end of the arena and collapses, just as the girl throws her ax.

The ax goes over the edge of the cliff, and the District 1 girl tries to keep her feet under her, hoping that Haymitch succumbs to his wounds. But Haymitch knows something that she doesn't. The ax that District 1 had thrown over the cliff comes sailing back, imbedding itself in her skull before she even has a chance to blink.

Haymitch is the victor.

Peeta turns off the TV, and both of us are quiet for a moment. Finally, I say. "Well, he screwed up almost as bad as we did."

"Almost, but not quite."

At the sound of our mentor's voice, Peeta and I spin around to face him, no doubt looking guilty. Haymitch laughs, and takes a swig from his flask, causing Peeta and I to relax. We're not in trouble.

"That force field at the bottom of the cliff," Peeta begins intently. "That was the same force field that they have on top of the roof of the Training Center. It'll throw you back if you try to jump and commit suicide." He looks at Haymitch. "You made it into a weapon."

"And made fools of the Capitol, just like we did," I say.

Haymitch smirks. "See? We all have that in common. We're friends for life, now," he says sarcastically, as he plops down on the sofa beside me.

I blame it on the hormones, but I disengage myself from Peeta and move to Haymitch, looping my arm through his and leaning my head on his shoulder. "Family," I correct him softly. "We're family."

Haymitch doesn't argue, and Peeta and I share a smile.

* * *

**I can't help it. I love fluffy moments between Haymitch and PK. So, they've gone through the reapings, seen the other reapings, admitted they're all family, and are Capitol-bound. Don't you know they're excited.  
**

**I know I am. ;)  
**

**The fun is about to begin.  
**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . FINNICK!  
**

**"Oh, can't have people thinking a scandal is brewing."**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	24. Chapter 24

******************************A/N: Hey guys! We made it through another week! Thank you so very much for your lovely reviews! They make my day! :)  
**

******************************Movie quote of the day comes from _The Princess Bride._  
**

******************************"Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!" - Inigo Montoya  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"**

* * *

Chapter 24

You know that strange, shivery feeling you get when someone is staring at you? Multiply those feelings times six and add on to that a whole new level of awkwardness and you can accurately understand how I feel in this very moment.

I had been sleeping, my head on Peeta's chest like always, when the sound of a whimper caused me to stir. And Peeta, ever alert and protective, even in slumber, began to awake the moment I did, his arm tightening around me. I blinked blearily, batting away sleep.

And I found myself staring into six pairs of teary eyes.

"What the hell?"

Peeta's voice seems to snap both our prep teams out of their silent stupor, and I notice Octavia fighting back a sob. I sit up in the bed, suddenly self-conscious because of the presence of Peeta's prep team, which consists of two men and a girl. One of the men has fiery red hair that is obviously dyed with dramatic purple makeup, and the other is dark-skinned with a shaven head, but with gold tattoos that tangle up both of his arms. The girl, pixie-like in stature, has short blonde hair and bright green eyes. She actually looks normal.

And all of them are studying me intently. "What?" I ask nervously.

"Nothing," the redheaded man shakes his head, his oddly squeaky voice catching. "It's just . . . you look so adorable!"

"Even if it's a bit oversized," the pixie girl sighs. "Peeta's shirt looks good on you."

You've got to be kidding me. Clothes? Seriously?

"Um, thanks," I say slowly, glancing at Peeta. "But why are you here?"

"Oh, well, you see, we couldn't find Peeta," the dark-skinned man explains. "He wasn't in his room."

"But Flavius found him in yours," the pixie girl pipes up. "So here we are."

"And you're so cute together!" Venia gushes, though tears are in her eyes. "It's such a shame about the Games. I was looking forward to your wedding!" Every member of the prep teams sniffles.

"Right." Of course. The wedding. Shame it's been canceled. "So, I guess it's time to get to the remake center?"

Octavia bats her eyes quickly, fighting back tears. "Yes, yes. But we can give you two some time alone. To get dressed properly." Her eyes drift to Peeta's bare torso and I resist the urge to growl and yank the sheet up to cover him.

My hormones have made me oddly possessive. Peeta thinks it's funny. Even now, I see him fighting not to smile out of the corner of my eye. "Thanks, Octavia," he says with a polite smile. "We'll be out in a minute."

Octavia smiles, her eyes still lingering on Peeta's shirtless state much too long for my liking. I even catch Flavius ogling. Venia seems to be the only one of my prep team unaffected, and I decide that she's my favorite. Peeta and I silently wait for our prep teams to vacate the room . . . and then wait a few seconds more . . .

"Um, guys?" Peeta prompts, looking pointedly at the door.

There's a chorus of apologies, and one by one, the members of our prep teams file out the door. Venia is kind enough to shut the door behind her, and the moment that we're alone again, both Peeta and I flop back down onto the bed heavily.

"That was creepy," I say after a moment.

"Yeah," Peeta agrees before turning on his side to face me, wearing a bright smile. "But at least I know all that training really paid off." His smile morphs into a smirk. "Even guys think I'm hot."

I scowl before shoving him onto his back. Before he has time to protest, I'm straddling his waist and whatever complaint he was about to voice is forgotten. "Only I am allowed to admire you in a shirtless state," I tell him possessively, absently running my hands over his chest. "Or any other state of undress for that matter."

Peeta chuckles, amusement shining in his eyes. "You do realize that all of Panem has already seen me practically naked, right?"

I frown at the reminder. In our games, during our confrontation with the Career Pack, Peeta had gotten cut by Cato. I'd shot down the tracker jacker nest, causing Peeta and I to become separated. And while I spent the next few days thinking Peeta was dead, in reality he'd camouflaged himself into the bank of the stream in a last ditch attempt to stay alive. I'd found him days later, after learning that he was still alive from Rue. The thing was, he was so caked in mud that I'd had to wash all the mud from his clothes and his skin. If it weren't for a conspicuously placed backpack, Peeta would have been seen by Panem in all his glory.

"Damn it," I mutter, causing Peeta to laugh.

"Hey, you know I'm all yours," he reminds me and I nod, slightly mollified.

"Very true."

"And we actually need to get dressed before our prep teams barge in again."

I groan pathetically, hiding my face in the crook of his neck. "But I actually feel normal this morning," I complain. No nausea, no other pregnancy-related hassles. Well, except for my hormones, which were demanding that I take advantage of Peeta's half-clothed presence.

As if reading my mind, Peeta pulls away from me before I can attack him. "Katniss," he chides with a smile. "Not that I haven't been feeling really appreciated lately, but we've got to get dressed."

A wave of rejection hits me hard. I know that it's my hormones, but I still feel unwanted. "Don't you want me?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds, but I can't help it.

"You know I do," Peeta reassures me. "All the time."

Now, I'm feeling frustrated, in more ways than one. "Then why won't you have sex with me?"

"Because we don't have enough time," Peeta defends soothingly. "And when I make love to you, I want to be able to take my time and show you just how much I love you. Less than five minutes is not enough time for me."

I huff, trying not to feel the warmth radiating through me at his words. "Fine," I mumble, before getting out of bed. I pull his shirt off over my head and toss it in the corner before beginning my search for clean clothes. Simplicity is best when going to the remake center, so I wear some black sweats.

When I turn around, Peeta is already dressed and sitting on the bed waiting for me. How men seem to dress in three seconds is beyond me. I'm still upset with him, even if I know it's illogical, so I cross my arms over my chest and ignore him. My hand is reaching for the doorknob when a strong arm wraps around my waist.

I face Peeta questioningly, raising an eyebrow. "What—"

Any further thoughts are extinguished as his lips meet mine, and all I can comprehend is that Peeta is kissing me, assuring me that he _does_ want me, and all my previous feelings melt away as I deepen the kiss. My fingers tangle in his hair as I feel my back press against the door. The only reason I break away is because I'm startled by a knock on the door.

"Katniss!" Octavia calls. "We can hear you two!"

"Hopefully you're still dressed!" Flavius adds. "Really, we should be going!"

"Peeta, dear," the pixie girl from Peeta's prep team says. "Really, sweetie, we need you, too."

"Not that we don't love that you two love each other so much," another voice pipes up, one of the men on Peeta's prep team. "Really, it's quite beautiful . . ." he trails off, sniffling.

Peeta and I stare at each other, both of us slightly mortified and amused by the conversation currently taking place. "Are we really that loud?" I whisper, and Peeta smirks.

"Not me," he shakes his head. "You."

I scowl and Peeta kisses me again, however, we quickly part when a voice calls through the door.

"Stop playing grab ass and get out here!"

Heat floods my face as Peeta and I part, reluctantly opening the door and stepping out into the hallway to meet our prep teams and our irritated, slightly drunken mentor. "Morning, Haymitch," Peeta says politely, like nothing is awkward about the situation.

"Get to the remake center," Haymitch snaps, not bothering with pleasantries. "Before I drag you there myself."

Apparently deciding that his paternal duties have been fulfilled, Haymitch takes a swig from his flask and ambles away, going who-knows-where. This leaves Peeta and I standing in the hallway with our prep teams, who are staring at us intently again. I feel self-conscious and run my fingers through my hair, which is loose because for some reason my braid has been giving me a headache lately.

"Oh, Katniss, don't worry," Venia assures me. "It's not your hair that's mussed."

I glance at Peeta, who's looking just a bit more disheveled than me, his hair sticking out in all directions and his t-shirt slightly crinkled. Had I fisted my hands in his shirt? I can't remember . . .

"Um, so can we go now?" I ask, trying to get away from the embarrassment of the situation.

"Oh, yes," Flavius immediately begins to guide me off the train, Venia and Octavia following behind him. I hear Peeta and his prep team following us too. "We're already running a little late."

Once in the remake center, Peeta and I part for the rest of the day, but not before he slips from his prep team's clutches to give me a sweet kiss and promise to see me at the chariot before the parade. This action makes both our prep teams swoon and sniffle.

My beauty routine is so familiar to me that it barely causes me to flinch anymore. I lay on the table as I'm waxed, buffed, polished, plucked, and whatever else they deem necessary. However, this process regains its insufferable nature when my prep team begins to get teary. Apparently, they'd already been feeling awful about mine and Peeta's terrible misfortune about getting thrown into the arena again. Walking in on Peeta and I this morning, with me 'wrapped protectively in his arms' (Octavia's own words), has only increased their sorrow.

I grow annoyed rather quickly, especially when their emotions get the better of them and they have to take a break from beautifying me to blow their nose and carefully pat the tears from their cheeks, so as to not ruin their makeup completely. Each of them break down at least twice, and Octavia seems to keep up a constant whimper.

I spend the entire three hours comforting my prep team. The fact that _I'm_ the one comforting _them_ is the most frustrating thing. If anyone has the right to cry over my misfortune, it's me. After all, my prep team isn't getting thrown back into the arena. They're not pregnant with a child that's doomed the moment President Snow finds out he or she exists. Oh, and they aren't preparing to be a part of a rebellion.

By the time Cinna comes in, my fists are clinched, ready to punch the next person who looks at me with pity. Naturally, Cinna seems to sense this and praises my prep team for their work and then dismisses them. "Damp morning?" he asks knowingly.

"You could wring me out."

Cinna smiles. "I'll talk with them," he promises me.

"You're not going to burst into tears, are you?" I ask. "Because I _will_ kill you."

"Don't worry," Cinna assures me with a small smile. "I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself." I don't have time to ponder his statement before he gestures to the sitting area. "How about some lunch?"

Food. Yes, lunch sounds _fantastic_. "Great."

We sit down to eat and the food is as divine as always. Chicken and rice in a creamy, mushroom sauce. Rolls. Tons of different jewel-colored jellies. But the best part of the meal by far is the desert. Assorted fruit that we dip in a bowl of chocolate. Have I mentioned how much I love chocolate now that I'm pregnant? Pretty soon, I've disregarded the fruit completely and am just eating the stuff with a spoon.

Cinna orders another bowl.

I eat all of that one, too.

"So," I begin as I'm scraping up the last vestiges of the chocolate with my fingers. "What's your brilliant plan for our costumes this year?" Cinna doesn't answer immediately, instead I find myself under the scrutiny of his sharp gaze. "What?" I ask.

"Nothing," Cinna frowns slightly. "You just have this . . . glow about you."

"Okay . . ." I trail off as my heart beats faster. Isn't there something called a pregnancy glow? Oh, crap. If _anyone_ could figure out that I'm pregnant, it would be Cinna. "Um, is that a bad thing?"

"No," Cinna says slowly. "In fact, it will make your costume for the parade even more spectacular."

"Oh, great," I say quickly, before frowning when I realize that there is absolutely no more chocolate left in the bowl. Cinna eyes the two empty chocolate bowls critically and then my two empty plates. Had I really eaten that much?

"Katniss," Cinna begins softly. "Do you have something to tell me?"

Damn. He knows. And honestly, I really want to tell him. Cinna has become one of my closest friends, and he always seems to give the best advice before I even know that I need it. "Maybe," I reply hesitantly, mindful of the listening devices that are no doubt planted in the room.

"I see," he says. "Well, why don't we get your costume on? I think it'll suit you perfectly."

"Of course it will," I return easily. "You designed it."

Cinna's costume for me this year is a seemingly bland black jumpsuit. He places a half crown on my head, like the one I wore as a victor, except this one is coal black instead of shiny gold. As he's adjusting the outfit he makes small talk, and I slowly begin to see where this conversation will lead. My assumptions are proven correct when he brings up the fact that his sister, who I previously hadn't even known existed, recently gave birth to her first child.

"Aw, Uncle Cinna," I tease, causing Cinna to smile.

"It's an amazing thing, bringing a life into the world," he says and my teasing smile falls from my lips, as the severity of our masked conversation sets in. "A very big responsibility."

"Absolutely," I agree seriously. "I'm sure your sister can handle it."

"I believe so," Cinna says, laughing a little before adding, "My nephew was somewhat of a surprise."

Oh, don't I know about surprises. "Well, I'm sure your sister is fully prepared for all that will come."

Cinna and I share a significant glance. "Let's hope," he finally says before immediately focusing his attention on my outfit. "Alright, so let me show you how this works."

He presses a button on the inside of my sleeve and turns me to face the mirror. At first, the suit lights up in a soft yellow glow, but slowly, the colors begin to flicker and swirl and fade. Bright orange and red and white become clearer, the colors casting my face in a powerful glow. My makeup is dark and dramatic, my hair in large ringlets flowing over my shoulders and down my back. The days of pink lipstick and ribbons have passed. I'm no longer a girl. I'm a victor.

Cinna has made me look powerful and commanding. My flames from last year have flickered out. This year I'm a coal, a glowing ember. I'm fire itself. I'm dangerous.

"Wow," I breathe. "Cinna, this is amazing! How did you do this?"

"Portia and I spent a lot of time staring at fires," Cinna replies with a smile, before pressing the button on the inside of my wrist. My costume returns to its deceptively bland look. "Let's not run down your power pack." He brushes away some imaginary dust on my shoulder. "When you're on the chariot this time, no waving, no smiling. I just want you to look straight ahead, as if the entire audience is beneath your notice."

I smile. "Finally, something I'm good at."

Cinna returns my smile and kisses my forehead. "Be careful," he says softly, and I know he's referring to the baby.

"Always am," I reply, and Cinna nods, though I wonder whether I've reassured him at all. These days, I have enough of a time reassuring myself.

Cinna leaves, having other things to attend to, and I make to follow him, but seeing my reflection in the mirror causes me to pause. Cinna notices my hesitation, but doesn't comment, instead giving me the solitude that I need, and shutting the door on his way out. I stare at myself in the mirror, taking in my dramatic, dark makeup and my tastefully curled hair. As usual, I hardly recognize myself, but at the same time I do. Cinna seems to be able to recreate different aspects of my personality into my wardrobe. My innocent days are long gone. No more filly frocks and pink and ribbons. Now, I'm powerful and deadly and everyone knows it.

But that's not why I'm staring at myself in the mirror. I'm staring because I'm trying to see any sign that I'm pregnant. Contrary to what Cinna said, I don't see any special glow about me. My hands find my stomach, still as flat as ever. No one will know, no one will realize my secret. Only Peeta, Prim, and Haymitch know. But still, my fear is that I'll walk into the bottom level of the Remake Center and immediately, every single tribute will know that I'm pregnant.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. No one will notice. There is absolutely no visible sign that I'm pregnant. None. I still look the same . . . for now at least.

_Come on, Katniss. _I chide myself. _Get a grip._

When I reach the ground floor of the Remake Center, I have to take a moment to process the scene. Whereas last year, all the tributes were strictly confined to their chariot, this year it's almost like a family reunion, with the tributes and their mentors mingling and socializing. Of course, I don't know a single tribute, and socializing is Peeta's realm, so I make my way to our chariot and begin to stroke the neck of one of our horses.

Just as I'm beginning to think that no one noticed my appearance, I hear someone coming up behind me. I turn to face the new arrival and find myself staring into the startlingly beautiful sea green eyes of Finnick Odair. He's tall, athletic, and muscled with perfectly tanned skin and a blindingly white smile. Messy bronze hair threatens to hang in his eyes as he leans casually against my horse, his startling eyes mere inches from mine.

"Hello Katniss," he says with great familiarity, like we've known each other forever, when in fact we've never met.

Nonetheless, I give him a small smile and say, "Hello Finnick." After all, we're allies, right? Haymitch told Peeta and I before the reaping that everyone had been informed about us knowing the plan to escape the arena.

"Want a sugar cube?" he asks, leaning even further toward me, making me supremely uncomfortable considering the amount of Finnick's bare skin that is exposed. He's draped in a golden net, strategically knotted at his groin so that he's not completely nude. I guess his stylists assume that the more exposed Finnick is the better.

I resist the urge to take a step back, refusing to show any weakness. Finnick smiles, as if to reassure me. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and me, well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it while we can."

Is there some secret message in that? I have no clue.

I think of what I know of Finnick Odair. Winning the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games at the age of fourteen makes him one of the youngest victors. Since he's from District 4, the odds were already in his favor because he was a Career, but no one could take credit for his amazing good looks. Well, except his parents, I guess. Anyway, while other tributes were hard pressed to get anything in the arena, Finnick never wanted for anything. Food. Water. Medicine. Anything Finnick wanted, he got. However, when a silver parachute dropped from the sky, carrying a trident, the Games were over. District 4's industry is fishing, so Finnick had been in the water and on ships his whole life. The trident became an extension of his arm, and within days the Games were over, Finnick trapping his enemies in woven nets and then spearing them.

Finnick killed and looked good doing it—the Capitol has loved him ever since.

It wasn't until he turned sixteen that everyone's love was able to come to fruition. Since then, Finnick has spent his time in the Capitol being dogged by those desperately in love with him. I've seen five different girls on his arm in one week. Some are pretty, some aren't. Some are young, and some are older. It doesn't seem to matter.

Finnick is stunning, I can't deny that. But I can say with total honesty that he's not my type. He isn't six feet tall with curly blonde hair that hangs over his forehead and blue eyes like a summer sky. He doesn't radiate a gentle, yet protective warmth. He doesn't make my heart beat faster with just one look. In other words, he's not Peeta.

"No, thanks," I say to the sugar.

This doesn't seem to faze Finnick. He simply takes a good, long look at my outfit, his gaze lingering suggestively in all the right places. I imagine most girls would be nearly squealing in their attempt to contain their excitement. Me? I'm wondering if I'm going to punch him in the face.

"You're absolutely terrifying me in that getup," he shivers. "What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?" He subtly runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and I'm beginning to wonder if he's trying to make me uncomfortable on purpose.

"I outgrew them," I answer simply.

Finnick's fingers trace the collar of my outfit. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."

I resist rolling my eyes, barely. "I don't like jewels," I tell him, exasperation leaking into my voice. Where is Peeta? "I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?"

"Oh, I haven't dealt with anything as common as money in years," he answers.

"Then how do they pay for the pleasure of your company?"

"With secrets."

Finnick's voice has dropped to a low whisper, and he tilts his head toward me so that his lips are almost in contact with mine. "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

Again, I wonder if Finnick is trying to portray some sort of secret message to me. Secrets? What does he want me to say? I plan on helping overthrow the Capitol with District 13? Fat chance of me saying that here. Although, I suppose I could also tell him that I'm pregnant, secretly married to Peeta, and that I sincerely wish that said secret husband were here so he could punch Finnick in his pretty face. Wow, these hormones are really bringing out my violent tendencies . . .

"No, I'm an open book," I answer in a whisper. Almost as if sensing his presence, I look over Finnick's shoulder to see Peeta striding toward us. Yes! "Peeta's coming," I tell Finnick as I take a step away from him.

"Oh, can't have people thinking a scandal is brewing," Finnick jokes as he takes a step back, too. "Sorry about your wedding, though," he adds, a glint entering his eye that I haven't seen before, something that hints that there is much more to Finnick Odair than meets the eye. "I know how devastating that must be for you."

Okay, now I know Finnick at least knows something about mine and Peeta's situation. I wonder if he knows about the marriage, or even the baby. I don't know exactly how much information Haymitch shared. Surely he had to give a reason as to why he disobeyed orders and told Peeta and I of the rebellion and District 13.

Before I can say anything, Finnick turns and leaves, giving Peeta a cheery wave as he passes. Peeta's at my side in the next second. "What did Finnick Odair want?" he asks, and I smile as I detect a hint of protectiveness in his tone . . . and maybe just a little jealousy?

I press myself up against him, putting my lips just a breath away from his, and drop my eyelids, mimicking Finnick. "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," I whisper in my best seductive voice.

Peeta's hands slide down my back before settling on my hips. He smiles, "And what did you say?" he asks, his lips brushing mine.

"Oh, I'm an open book," I repeat my answer that I gave to Finnick and Peeta chuckles before his lips meet mine briefly.

"That's very true," he admits. "Did he say anything else?"

"He's very sorry our wedding is canceled," I say lightly, though with my eyes I try and convey that this part of the conversation was not so innocent. "I think he's sorry he missed it, or is going to anyway."

Peeta's eyes narrow in understanding. Finnick knows about us.

We're pulled out of our little bubble when the music begins to play. Peeta steps up to the chariot and offers me a hand, pulling me up beside him. Our hands stay clasped as we wait to be lead out of the tunnel. "Have you seen your suit turned on?" I ask as we wait for our chariot to move. "We're going to be fabulous again."

"Yeah, but we're supposed to be very above it all this year," Peeta says. "No waving or anything."

"Where are they anyway?" I wonder aloud as I look around. Last year, Cinna and Portia were at our sides until the very last second. This year they're nowhere to be found.

"I don't know," Peeta shrugs. "Maybe we should switch ourselves on."

I press the button on the inside of my sleeve and watch as my suit slowly glows to life, morphing into the ever-swirling colors of a bright, hot ember. Our outfits draw the attention of the other tributes, and since we're almost at the doors some people in the crowd are already pointing at us. Peeta and I are going to be the stars of opening ceremonies once again.

My hand tightens around Peeta's as our chariot begins to move, my stomach finally knotting in the nerves that I've been waiting to feel. I focus on the feel of Peeta's hand in mine, strong and warm, and feel my nerves diminish slightly. The crowd's screams turn chaotic when Peeta and I fully emerge from the tunnel of the Remake Center. They're shouting at us, blowing us kisses and waving, but Peeta and I ignore them completely.

I choose a point far in front of us and focus my gaze on it, like I'm hoping it will burst into flames. As we pass a large television, I catch a glimpse of us. We're just as beautiful and dazzling as we were last year, but this year there's an aura of darkness and power emanating from us. Our posture is stiff and commanding, our eyes are glowering in anger. We're unforgiving.

It doesn't take long for these feelings to consume me, and by the time our chariot stops in the City Circle, I'm seething. All of the hate I feel for Snow and the Capitol has seemed to meld into one ferocious feeling of loathing. All I can think about is how Snow came into my home before the Victory Tour, threatening not only my life and Peeta's, but our families as well. I think of how he's haunted my dreams, plaguing me with imaginings of my worst fears. I think of how I've been the Capitol's puppet, a mere source of entertainment. Most of all, I think of how my choices have been stolen from me, my freedom. I have no choice but to go into the arena, reliving my worst nightmare once again. And this time, I won't be going in alone. My unborn child, currently safe within my womb, will be with me.

I have every reason to be unforgiving.

As the sky darkens, mine and Peeta's costumes draw more and more attention. Even the tributes have a hard time looking away, particularly the tributes from District 6, who are known morphling addicts, their faces yellow and sunken, both of them bone thin. I swear even President Snow is fixated on me after he finishes delivering his speech. When his gaze meets mine, I glare at him for all that I'm worth, and the phrase, 'if looks could kill' runs through my mind.

Wishful thinking.

Peeta and I don't relax until the doors of the Training Center are closed. Cinna and Portia are there to greet us and congratulate us on our performance. Haymitch is present, unlike last year, except he's not at our chariot. Instead, he's talking with the tributes from District 11. He nods at us when our gazes lock, and then begins to make his way over to us, gesturing for his friends to follow.

I recognize Chaff easily. Aside from the fact that I've watched him and Haymitch pass a bottle back and forth for years during the Games, Chaff has a rather distinctive look. One of his arms ends in a stump, having lost his hand in his Games. I'm sure the Capitol probably offered him a prosthetic, but apparently Chaff decided against it. He's a big man, dark skinned and brown eyed, and judging by his slightly dazed look, just a little drunk. Apparently, he doesn't hold his alcohol as well as Haymitch.

My attention focuses on Chaff's district partner, Seeder. With her olive skin and straight black hair that is streaked with silver, she could easily pass as being from the Seam if only her eyes were grey instead of a warm, golden brown. Honestly, she must be around sixty, but you wouldn't know it just by looking at her. Seeder still looks as strong as ever. Before anyone says a word, Seeder embraces me in a tight hug, and somehow I know intuitively that it's because of Rue and Thresh. I can't stop myself from whispering, "The families?"

"Safe," she assures me quietly before letting me go, and a huge weight is lifted off my chest. Ever since the disastrous, rebel-inducing speech I gave on District 11's stop during the Victory Tour, I had been worrying about the repercussions that Rue and Thresh's family might face. Sometimes, I'll still see the old man with a red shirt and overalls led up the stage and shot in a nightmare.

While Seeder's greeting was a little surprising, Chaff's greeting blows hers out of the water when he throws an arm around me and gives me a solid kiss on the mouth. I'm so startled that I only have the thought to step away from him, instead of kicking him where the sun doesn't shine. Chaff and Haymitch are howling with laughter, and even Peeta looks like he's fighting a smile. Frankly, that annoys me more than anything. He's supposed to be jealous or overprotective or something. Hell, he's supposed to be just as pissed as I am!

I don't have time to give him a piece of my mind, though, because the Capitol attendants begin directing us firmly toward the elevators. It's obvious that they're not too thrilled with the blatant showing of camaraderie between the victors, who really don't seem to care. We're walking to the elevators, Peeta's fingers still twined with mine, when another person rushes up to my other side.

She's short, even shorter than me, and has spiky hair and big brown eyes. Johanna Mason from District 7, another one of my supposed allies according to Haymitch. Honestly, I'm more wary of Johanna than I am of Finnick. Johanna Mason won her Games by brilliantly portraying herself as a weakling, causing the other tributes to ignore her. When the Games began to wind down, she morphed into a vicious killer. I'd never seen anyone wield an ax quite like Johanna Mason.

She tosses off her leafy headdress, not bothering to see where it falls, and stands next to us as we wait for the elevator. "Isn't my costume awful?" she complains. "My stylist is the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her. Wish I'd gotten Cinna. You look fantastic."

Oh, great. Girl talk. I hate girl talk. It is not my forte. I barely managed with Prim that one time. Girl talk involves clothes, makeup, hair, and boys. I scramble for anything appropriate to say. "Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet." Seriously, velvet? That's the best I can come up with?

"I have," Johanna replies. "On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District 2? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous. I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back."

_I bet you did,_ I think dryly.

We're still waiting for the elevators, and Johanna decides to use the available time to unzip her costume and let it pool at her feet, leaving her wearing nothing but a pair of green slippers. "That's better," she sighs.

The elevator arrives then, and we all file in. Johanna spends the entire ride talking to Peeta about his paintings, even going as far as to ask if he does any nude paintings, and if so, she'll gladly pose for him. I find this part of the conversation ironic, considering that the glow from Peeta's costume is reflecting off her bare breasts.

My teeth clench, and I am immensely grateful when Johanna steps off the elevator. I ignore Peeta completely, though my hand has been slowly tightening around his in my frustration. I know that Peeta's grinning, I just know it. He thinks this is funny.

The moment the doors close, Peeta begins to laugh. "What?" I ask, yanking my hand away from his so I can cross my arms over my chest.

"It's you, Katniss," Peeta tries to explain. "Can't you see?"

I resist growling. "What's me?"

"Why they're all acting like this. Finnick with his sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole thing with Johanna stripping down . . ." Peeta tries to contain his smile, but he just can't quite manage it. "They're playing with you because you're so . . . you know."

"No," I scowl. "I don't know."

"It's like when you wouldn't look at me naked in the arena, even though I was half dead," Peeta tries to explain again. "You're so . . . pure."

"I am not!" I advance on him until his back hits the wall of the elevator. "I have practically been ripping your clothes off for the past month, and in case you forgot, I'm carrying your child!" I hiss so quietly that no microphone could possibly pick me up.

Peeta's eyes lose their amusement, his expression becoming serious. "I could never forget that," he tells me softly, his hands gently cupping my face as he places a tender kiss on my forehead. "But to the Capitol, Katniss, you're pure. For me, you're perfect," he adds with a smile, and I'm mollified a bit.

"I'm still mad at you," I tell him, despite the fact that my arms have wound their way around his waist, and my head is resting against his chest.

"And why is that?" Peeta asks.

"Because you didn't punch Chaff when he kissed me," I tell him honestly, causing Peeta to chuckle.

"Seriously!" I insist. "Did that not bother you at all?"

"Okay, it bothered me a little," Peeta admits, but he's still smiling. "But do you really want me to be that overprotective? Punching every guy that touches you?"

"No," I say slowly. "But you could have . . . I don't know . . . glared menacingly."

"It's hard for me to be menacing," Peeta says, and when I look up into his blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup and make truly deadly, I realize the truth of that statement. The only time I've ever seen anything even remotely close to menacing or deadly in Peeta's eyes is when I'm threatened, but that's a side of Peeta that I rarely see.

"You know what?" I say. "I think I like you just the way you are."

"Brilliant," Peeta grins before giving me a kiss, which I'm sure would have lasted longer if it weren't for the sound of the elevator doors opening.

Haymitch and Effie come to greet us, and I'm just about to say something when I see Haymitch's gaze harden. He's staring at something behind me, so I turn to see what has caused the tension. Effie notices Haymitch's gaze as well, and says, "Oh, it looks like they got you a matched set this year."

I see the redheaded Avox girl that waited on us last year, and beside her is another redhead, a man. That must be what Effie meant by a 'matched set.' However, when I get a better look at the new Avox, my stomach drops as I remember the last time I saw him. Lying on the ground unconscious after trying to save a bleeding Gale . . .

Our new Avox is Darius.

* * *

**Well, we've now briefly met Johanna and Finnick. Don't worry, next chapter has a whole lot more interaction between tributes! **

**Also, this is the last chapter where I will give you a quote from the next chapter of the story! Starting next chapter, the quotes will come from Mockingjay! Be excited, I sure am.  
**

**Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Finnick!  
**

**"We're not friends anymore, Katniss!"  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Hey guys! I just got to say thank you for all the reviews! Wow! It amazes me that I've got over 1,000 reviews for two of my stories! Makes me even more anxious about _Come Rain or Come Shine_! I sincerely hope you guys end up liking it. It's my favorite book of the three.  
**

**But that's getting just a little too far in the future for me. By the way, for those of you who are wondering, this story will end on Christmas Eve. No, I did not plan it that way, it just kinda happened. So never fear, there's still plenty of this story left to tell!  
**

**Movie quote of the day comes from _The Hangover_.  
**

**"There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"  
**

* * *

Chapter 25

For the briefest of moments, mine and Darius's eyes meet, but I immediately drop my gaze. I can't afford to show any recognition. It would only cause him to be punished, and he's already been punished enough. I quickly excuse myself to my room, trying to push away the images of mutilated tongues that are quickly filling my mind.

I have no doubt that this was President Snow's doing. Just to torture me further. All I can see in my mind is Darius, a young Peacekeeper, teasing and joking with me at the Hob as we ate lunch at Greasy Sae's. Of all the Peacekeepers, Darius was the most approachable, and now that I think about it, he was a real flirt, giving me subtle compliments and tugging on the end of my braid occasionally. I feel tears threaten to form, but I resolutely force them back. The last thing I need is for my overactive hormones to make me weepy. They've been doing that enough already, much to my irritation.

Darius doesn't deserve this fate. After all, what had he done that was so reprehensible as to have his tongue cut so that he can't speak? In my head, all I can hear is my memory of his voice. A lighthearted tenor. What had Darius done to deserve this? Try to save Gale? That's all he had done.

This was all my fault. It's because Darius knew me. It's because Darius tried to save Gale, who was _my_ best friend. All of this is because of me. Snow's continuing torture that he hopes will eventually break me. Guilt.

I carefully step out of my jumpsuit and fold it neatly on the bed, placing the crown on top. The tears that I've been desperately holding back finally begin to fall once I'm in the shower, but I don't mind then. I can pretend that their just beads of water from the spray. Meticulously, I scrub away all the traces of the Capitol, all the makeup and products that my prep team adorned me with.

When I see my skin slowly turning pink, I shut off the water and grab a towel, wrapping it tightly around myself. I'm not surprised when I step out into the bedroom to see Peeta sitting on the end of the bed, but I ignore him for the moment, focusing on picking out something to wear. Once I'm dressed, I wordlessly move to the bed and sit by Peeta.

I'm struck by a sense of gratefulness as I lean my head on Peeta's shoulder. It might sound arrogant or selfish, but I'm grateful to myself. For allowing myself to fall in love and to embrace it . . . because I have no idea how I would be able to handle all of this if I didn't have Peeta to rely on. Would I have tried to distance myself from everything? What about the Quell? I have no doubt that Peeta would have still volunteered to go into the arena with me. Would I have decided to try to save him and not myself? Somehow the noble action seems slightly flawed, because I know that I wouldn't have done it out of love, but because I'd feel like I owed him. Or maybe because I didn't want to live life without him. Maybe there would have been some true feelings there. I don't know.

But none of that matters. That's not my reality. In reality, I'm in love with Peeta Mellark, married to him, and carrying our child. I'm grateful that I allowed love into my life, that I allowed Peeta into my life. Because I honestly don't know how I could face all of this without him and that doesn't make me weak. Sometimes it might seem that way and sometimes I almost believe it, but I know it's not true. All I have to do is remember Prim's wise words. Love is a strength that can't be beaten.

"We need to go to dinner," Peeta finally speaks in a soft voice.

"I don't know if I can," I reply in a whisper. I don't know if I can go to dinner and pretend that everything is normal while Darius waits on me, serves me. I feel guilty. I'll be eating a succulent dinner, dressed in finer clothes that most people know, and all the while Darius will be serving me. It's not right.

Peeta sighs as he takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. "You don't have a choice."

I know. And I hate it.

Reluctantly, I follow Peeta into the dining room, where everyone has been waiting for us. Haymitch, Effie, Portia, and Cinna. I avoid looking at Darius, casting my eyes down to my plate the moment I sit down. Throughout the entire dinner, I'm really not aware of anything that's going on. Just when I'm about to disappear into my mind, I'll feel Peeta's hand on my knee, bringing me back to reality, grounding me. I almost manage to avoid looking at Darius throughout the meal, but when I look up at the wrong time and catch a glimpse of his red hair, I'm filled with guilt and the overwhelming need to acknowledge him, to let him know that I haven't forgotten about him. I want to show him that I'm on his side.

So I knock over a bowl of peas and before anyone can tell me otherwise, I scramble to the floor and begin to pick them up. Darius is at my side, and for a moment, as we're picking up the peas, our hands meet we hold each other's hands tightly for one moment, and in that one moment I manage to convey everything I feel. Our eyes meet, and I see no sense of blame in his eyes, only reassurance. It's not my fault, he's telling me.

"Katniss, that is not your job!" Effie scolds me, and I reluctantly return to my seat.

After dinner, we move into the living room to watch a recap of the ceremonies. I wedge myself between Haymitch and Peeta, feeling more at ease once I have them on either side of me. If I thought that the ceremonies were ridiculous before, that's nothing compared to this year, when the tributes are aging victors instead of kids. Kids look silly. Victors look ridiculous. Some of the younger victors, like Finnick and Johanna, still manage to retain some dignity. Everyone else just looks pathetic. Aged and weary from illness or addiction or both, the rest of the tributes are nothing to look at in their ridiculous costumes of trees and loaves of bread and cows. Surprise, surprise when Peeta and I emerge from the tunnel, looking young and powerful . . . looking like tributes are supposed to. It's a wonder that the crowd goes completely ballistic.

After the ceremonies, I praise Cinna and Portia for their brilliant work, and then excuse myself to go to bed. I hear Peeta following me, and just as we enter the hallway, we hear Haymitch say, "Think I need some fresh air."

Peeta and I immediately head toward the roof.

It's strange to be back on the roof, considering the last time I was here, things were so very different. I glance up at Peeta and I know that he's thinking the same thing I am. His fingers twine with mine and together we move toward the garden. "A lot has changed," Peeta finally comments. "Since last time."

I manage a smile. "You had me so confused." I turn to face him, my smile becoming more genuine as I continue. "Here we were, forced to say more than one word to each other for once, and suddenly it's all I can do not to blush every time you look at me. And then there was that damn fluttery feeling in my stomach when you would touch me, even if you were just holding my hand." I release his hand so that I can wrap my arms around his waist. "We had a lot of important conversations on this roof."

"Well then one more won't hurt."

Peeta and I step away from each other and face our mentor. Haymitch takes a drink from his flask before he begins. "Since we really can't talk strategy inside, we'll have to do it out here," he says. Smart. No doubt our suite is bugged, but up here on the roof, we're safe. Cinna told me that the rooftop is always too windy for any kind of listening device to pick up anything. "Tomorrow, you two need to make friends, but don't be too exclusive. Talk to everyone. Alliances are going to be different this year. Everyone already knows each other and has been friends for a long time. You two are the outsiders, you don't have any trust with them."

"So we'll be the first targets," Peeta deduces and Haymitch nods.

"Yes." Haymitch looks between the both of us, his voice lower when he speaks again. "Even if we're going to break you out of the arena, you still have to go through the Games. Nothing will be different. You will still have to kill to survive, and others will be trying to do the same thing. Just because there is a light at the end of the tunnel, doesn't mean that you let your guard down, got it?" Peeta and I nod. "Alright, now, even though you need to talk to everyone, make time to talk with Beetee, Wiress, Finnick, and Johanna. Katniss, you'd be better off to talk with Beetee and Wiress. Peeta, you take Finnick and Jo. Chaff and Seeder aren't to be forgotten either, but they don't know as much as Finnick and everyone else. Those four are your closest allies."

"How much do they know?" I ask Haymitch, remembering my encounter with Finnick before the parade. "Finnick hinted at knowing that Peeta and I were married."

Haymitch scowls. "Kid, can't keep his mouth shut," he mutters before returning his attention to us. "I had to tell 13 why I told you two, and I needed to have a damn good excuse. Only the higher ups know everything. Your allies in the arena only know you two are married, but Finnick's always been good at ferreting out secrets."

That doesn't surprise me.

"How are things in 13?" Peeta asks. "What about the state of the districts?"

"Things are looking a little rough in 7 and 10," Haymitch replies. "They're gathering forces. Don't worry about things in 13. That's my problem, not yours to worry about."

"What about the break-out?" I whisper. "Is everything in place?"

"Getting there," Haymitch answers. "Biggest problem is getting the hovercraft in under the radar. We've got a minute tops to get you out."

"Do you know anything about the arena?" Peeta asks. "Has Plutarch said anything?"

Haymitch shakes his head. "Information from him is always nearly threadbare. Can't afford to give us much without Snow suspecting something." I see a hint of paranoia in Haymitch's eyes as he looks around, as if he expects Capitol goons to jump out at any time. "That's enough," he says. "Get to sleep and I mean _sleep. _Walls are thin."

I blush furiously and Peeta looks like he's fighting not to grin. Figures.

We make our way back inside, Haymitch immediately going to his room and shutting the door resolutely behind him. Peeta and I stop in the middle of the hallway and he looks at me, "Mine or yours?"

I roll my eyes, and walk into my room.

"Yours it is, then."

Despite the rather lighthearted mood Peeta manages to create before we go to bed, my nightmares still haunt me with a vengeance. Mutilated tongues. Darius's screams that slowly morph into the sound of an infant. Blood dripping from President Snow's puffy lips. Mercifully, Peeta wakes me up, but I don't manage to fall back asleep. After an hour of lying in bed, I try to slip out of Peeta's arms without waking him up, a challenging task any day, but apparently his senses are on high alert now that we're in the Capitol, because the toes of my right foot have just barely touched the carpeted floor when I hear a sleepy voice.

"You should be asleep," Peeta murmurs, barely half-awake.

"I can't," I tell him. "I'm just going to walk around."

"Nope," Peeta shakes his head slightly, still half-asleep. He grabs my wrist and pulls me back into the bed until my back is pressed firmly against his chest, his arm trapping me against him. "Not letting you go," he mumbles, and I can't help but smile a little. "Can't lose you."

Something tells me that he's not simply referring to me leaving the bed anymore.

"Why not?" I ask, unable to help myself.

"Because I love you." Peeta holds me even closer. "You're everything to me," he continues in a sleepy mumble. I doubt he's been completely awake during our entire exchange. "You and the baby."

A light snore tells me he's finally succumbed to sleep completely, and I contently lie in his arms, assuring him that I don't plan on going anywhere.

Breakfast the next morning is a quiet affair since all our strategizing was done on the rooftop last night. A mildly distressed Effie scolds Haymitch for not doing his job properly, prompting Haymitch to glare at her before turning to us and saying, "Play nice with the other kids."

Effie, no doubt in an attempt to show Haymitch how to do one's job properly, showcases her talent for being on schedule and gathers Peeta and I at the elevator early to go down to training. Of course, her plan is foiled when Haymitch tells her not to escort us. Peeta and I have to show that we can stand on our own. We don't need a babysitter.

So Effie contents herself with fussing over us for five minutes and then pressing the button in the elevator for us. While last year Peeta and I were the last to arrive, this year we're one of the firsts. Only Brutus and Enobaria are here. Blame it on my hormones, but everything within me shouts to stay away from Enobaria. This really shouldn't surprise me, considering that in hand to hand combat during Enobaria's games, she ripped out her opponent's neck with her teeth. She became so famous for her action that she got her teeth surgically altered so that each tooth ends in a sharp, gold-capped point.

Peeta and I steer clear of the duo, for now at least, and stand near the center of the room. We each content ourselves with getting reacquainted with the surroundings we never thought we'd have to see again, when Peeta speaks, "Did we talk last night?" he asks, frowning slightly.

"Very early this morning," I correct him with a small smile. "What do you remember?"

"Not wanting to let you go." Peeta looks like he's trying to remember more. "But that's it, really."

"You weren't entirely awake. It was real cute, actually," I tease him as I remember his sleepy, sweet mutterings.

"I'm glad it was entertaining," he says. "I didn't say anything stupid, did I? Like 'needs more salt' or something?"

I smile. "No. You definitely didn't say anything like that."

At promptly ten o'clock, Atala, the head instructor for training, begins her speech. Not even half of the tributes are here, but the fact doesn't seem to faze her. Maybe she even expected it. She gives the exact same speech that she gave last year. We can move to the different stations as we please. No fighting between tributes. If you want to spar, a partner will be provided.

A brief flashback of when Peeta lifted weights, taunting Cato, flits through my mind.

We're dismissed to move to the stations, and I turn to Peeta. "We'll cover more ground if we split up," I say. "I'm going to tie knots."

Peeta sighs, and looks around. I can tell he's not really too thrilled with the idea of leaving me, his overprotectiveness getting the better of him. I give him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine," I reassure him. "Go throw spears with Brutus."

Both Peeta and I glance toward the weapons station, where Brutus and Chaff are already chucking spears at targets. Peeta turns back to me, "You've got to be kidding."

"Think of it as male bonding," I say, giving him a nudge in that direction. "Socialize. You're good at that. Make new friends."

_Just like Haymitch told us, _hangs unsaid in the air.

"Fine," Peeta relents. "But if I get skewered, know that you put me up to this."

I roll my eyes. "Go."

The knot-tying instructor recognizes me, and once I show him that I still remember how to make a snare that will leave someone hanging by their foot from a tree, he's impressed and considers me a star pupil, especially when he takes into account the snares I set in the arena. I spend the next hour and a half tying complicated knots, ones that the instructor thinks may be useful to know. I'm working on a particularly difficult one when I feel a warm, solid chest against my back that is _not_ Peeta's. Muscled arms surround me and practiced fingers quickly finish tying the knot that I'd spent the past ten minutes working on.

Naturally, the person behind me is none other than Finnick Odair. It makes sense I guess, being from the fishing district. Spending all his days on boats, wielding tridents and tying fancy knots. "Katniss!" he greets charmingly. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine," I say as I watch him pick up a length of rope and begin manipulating it quickly. "I guess knot-tying is a piece of cake for you, right?"

Finnick gives me an easy smile. "You could say that," he says as he continues manipulating the rope. "And . . . here . . . we . . . are!" Finnick has made a noose. Glancing at me and waggling his eyebrows, his comically pretends to hang himself. I roll my eyes at his silliness.

"You remind me of someone I know," I tell him, and Finnick looks intrigued.

"Really?" he says. "Is he equally buff and devilishly good looking?"

I smile, neither affirming nor denying his question. "You remind me of Rye," I admit. "One of Peeta's brothers."

"How so?" Finnick asks, truly looking curious.

I study Finnick for a moment. While he's incredibly handsome, I'm beginning to suspect that there is much more than meets the eye with Finnick Odair, if only people would see past his looks. And it might be the budding mothering instincts in me, but I feel the greatest need to give him a hug and hold him.

"You both like to make people smile," I finally say, before looking down, slightly embarrassed. Now that I've said it, it seems slightly pitiful, but when I look up and meet Finnick's eyes, his sea green orbs reflect genuine gratitude. I guess it must be a nice change of pace to be complimented on something other than his looks.

"Katniss, I think this is the beginning of beautiful friendship," Finnick says and I smile.

"Oh, boy, what have I gotten myself into?"

My next station is the fire station. While I'm pretty good with fires, I still rely heavily on matches to start them. The instructor has me try to use flint, steel, and charred cloth as starters and I busy myself with my task for a good hour before I get a decent fire going. A victorious smile pulls at my lips as I look up, only to discover that I no longer have the station to myself.

Beetee and Wiress, the tributes from District 3, are beside me, having trouble starting a fire using matches. I study them briefly. Both have dark hair and pale faces and are small in stature. Wiress appears to be my mother's age and speaks in a soft, quiet, intelligent voice, though it quickly becomes apparent that she has a knack for trailing off mid sentence, though Beetee will flawlessly complete her thought. Beetee himself is older, his black hair streaked with grey. He wears a pair of glasses that he has a habit of looking under and appears to be a bit fidgety.

I automatically like them.

But before making conversation, I take a brief glance around the Training Center. Naturally, my eyes find Peeta first. He's at the knife throwing station, doing well if the knife-ridden target in front of him is anything to go by. I spot Finnick next, with the old woman from his district at the archery station. Johanna is naked again, oiling her breasts for a wrestling lesson. I quickly direct my gaze elsewhere. The tributes from District 6, the morphling addicts, are having a great time at the camouflage station, painting their bodies with a variety of colors.

Definitely different from the last time I was here.

My attention returns to Wiress and Beetee. "Hi," I say, sounding slightly awkward. Socializing really isn't my thing, though I'd like to think that some of Peeta's charm has rubbed off on me.

"Hello," Wiress replies and Beetee offers me a smile. I think we're off to a good start.

After I muddle my way through the beginning, eventually we manage to settle into an easy-going conversation. Beetee and Wiress are both smarter than I could ever dream of being. They invent things, they tell me. It's their talent. Of course, I share my 'talent' of fashion design, but it interests them just about as much as it does me, which is to say not at all. Although, Wiress tells me that she's invented some kind of stitching device.

"It senses the density of the fabric and selects the strength . . ." she trails off and Beetee obligingly finishes her thought.

"The strength of the thread," he explains. "Automatically. It rules out human error."

Beetee goes on to share his latest invention, which is a device that plays music that is about the size of a flake of glitter. Apparently, it can hold hundreds of songs, and I vaguely remember Octavia mentioning the device during my wedding photo shoot.

We continue to talk, and I stick with them as they move to the shelter station. Suddenly, Wiress stops walking to look at the stands were the Gamemakers reside, occasionally looking up from their food and drink to take notice of us. "Look," she says.

I do, but all I see is Plutarch Heavensbee, dressed in his royal purple Head Gamemaker's robes. He's studiously ignoring me, but I don't mind. The last thing I want is for him to come under any suspicion. I don't understand why Wiress has pointed him out, considering the most interesting thing he's doing is eating a turkey leg.

But nonetheless I say, "Yes, he's been promoted to Head Gamemaker this year."

"No, no," Wiress shakes her head. "There by the corner of the table. You can just . . ." she trails off and Beetee continues.

"Just make it out," he says as he squints under his glasses.

I stare at the table, trying to fruitlessly see whatever Wiress and Beetee have spotted. I'm just about to throw my hands up in exasperation when I see it. A square patch maybe six inches in width that seems to be vibrating, undulating in the air. Perplexed, I turn to Wiress and Beetee for an explanation.

"A force field," Beetee answers my unspoken question. My eyes find the little vibrating patch again that's distorting my view of the corner of the table and goblet of wine set upon it. "They've set one up between the Gamemakers and us. I wonder what brought that on."

A light blush colors my cheeks. "I think that's probably my fault," I admit. "Last year I shot an arrow at them during my private training session."

Beetee and Wiress seem to look at me with new eyes, though I think I see Beetee's lips twitch as he fights a smile. I still feel the need to defend my actions, "They weren't paying attention to me. Just this roast pig. I shot the apple out of its mouth, that's it."

Reverting back to the original subject I ask, "So, do all force fields have a spot like that?"

"Chink," Wiress mumbles and Beetee nods.

"In the armor, as it were," he says. "Ideally it'd be invisible, wouldn't it?"

All this talk about force fields has reminded me of an important fact. The fact that the arena is surrounded by a force field, and somehow, Beetee and Wiress have a plan to disable it. Suddenly, our conversation takes on a whole new meaning as I realize their connotation. _A chink in the armor. _I'm now certain that this chink, this rippling patch of the force field, is how Beetee and Wiress plan to bring down the force field. I simply have no idea how they plan to do this.

Lunch is called and I excuse myself to find Peeta. I notice a crowd around the weight lifting station, and a wave of unease hits me, memories of last year's encounter with the weight lifting station flitting through my mind. I weave my way through the crowd, and can't help but roll my eyes at the scene in front of me, my unease quickly being replaced with annoyed amusement.

Brutus, Peeta, and Finnick are having a weight lifting contest.

There are three bench presses, and I find Peeta lying comfortably under the one in the middle, Brutus and Finnick on either side of them. Johanna is next to me, eyeing Peeta appraisingly, which really doesn't sit right with me, especially when I remember that she offered to pose nude for Peeta in the elevator last night. "They're up to 250," she tells me. "Brutus is about to bow out."

Sure enough, Brutus concedes defeat, though he doesn't look too happy about it. He makes up some excuse that I don't hear. I watch as Peeta and Finnick's instructor adds more weight to either side of their respective bars. "So, just how much can Golden Boy lift?" Johanna asks.

I can't help the prideful smirk that appears on my face. "More than 250."

"I'm gonna win, Mellark!" Finnick taunts as he lifts the bar. "Just give in now!"

Peeta chuckles. "Not happening, Odair."

"Oh, I see," Finnick continues to try to goad. "Don't want to look bad in front of your girlfriend?"

"Fiancée," Peeta corrects. "You wouldn't be trying to buy time, would you, Odair? Getting tired?"

"Ha!" Finnick motions to the instructors. "More weight!"

They get up to 330 before Finnick begins to struggle. I roll my eyes and step away from Johanna, sidling up to Peeta. I squat down beside his head. "Will you just end this already?" I ask with a smirk. "Cause I really want to eat sometime soon."

"We're not friends anymore, Katniss!" Finnick declares childishly.

I look up to the instructor. "Make it 400."

Finnick rests his bar in its cradle and sits up. "He can't lift 400," he says.

"Just admit defeat now," Peeta grins at Finnick.

"You lift it, then!" Finnick demands, though his eyes are sparkling with playfulness. He and Peeta are having fun. I see why Haymitch suggested that Peeta talk to Finnick. They get along well.

"Fine," Peeta shrugs, getting situated once more. He glances at Finnick. "How many reps?"

Finnick scoffs. "Well, since I don't think you can do one, let's make it three."

Peeta just smiles. "Prepare to lose."

The instructor adds on the extra weight, and Peeta glances at me for a moment, gives me a quick smile, before clenching his jaw and beginning to lift. Unable to help myself, I take advantage of my position, and lean forward so that my lips are at his ear. I begin to count. "One," I whisper. "Two." Peeta grunts in exertion. "Three."

Peeta rests the bar in its cradle and sits up, exhaling loudly. He then looks up at Finnick, wearing a smugly innocent expression, "What was that about not being able to do one rep, let alone three?"

Finnick's begins to splutter. "How can you lift more weight than me?"

Peeta laughs as he throws an arm around me and begins to walk toward the cafeteria. "Because I'm prettier than you."

"Are not!"

Lunch is very social. Peeta and some of the others drag all the tables together to make one large table so we all eat together. I don't really mind as long as I sit by Peeta. Maybe Wiress or Beetee. Even Finnick.

I'm loading my plate with food when Peeta comes up beside me. He chuckles, "Got enough food?"

"I'm hungry," I reply lightly. "I already told you that."

Peeta shakes his head, a smile on his face. "So, make any friends?"

"Finnick reminds me of Rye a little," I say and Peeta pauses to consider before nodding.

"Yeah, I guess," he says. "They're both funny guys."

"And I like Wiress and Beetee."

"They're something of a joke to the others," Peeta explains. "Johanna nicknamed them Nuts and Volts. I think she's Nuts and he's Volts."

I snort. "Of course, we should all take into account anything Johanna Mason says while oiling up her breasts for wrestling."

"You're still mad at her for the naked thing in the elevator, aren't you?" Peeta asks with a small smile. I have no idea why he thinks this is amusing.

"She offered to pose nude for you," I snap as I add a handful of chocolate-dipped strawberries to my plate. "If anyone is posing nude for you, it's me."

Peeta raises his eyebrows, a light entering his eye. "Would you really?"

I begin to stammer, a blush flooding my cheeks. "I, well, it's just, um, maybe?"

"Relax Katniss," he grins. "I can draw you from memory. Wouldn't forget a single detail, I promise."

Once I'm sure that my blush has faded, I take a seat at the table, Peeta on my right and Beetee on my left. The atmosphere this year is so different from last year. Last year, everyone spread out and ate alone, except for the Careers and me and Peeta. And here we are this year, showing all this camaraderie, eating together and joking around like we're not going into an arena to fight to the death in just four days.

After lunch, I spend the rest of the day trying to talk to each tribute. I talk with Cecelia from District 8, the mother of three, at the edible insects station. However, I can't manage to talk with her for long because inevitably she'll bring up one of her kids, and I'll be reminded of my own child growing within me. Though a part of me is desperate to ask her questions, about what exactly I don't know, but I tear myself away before I let slip my greatest secret.

Cashmere and Gloss, the sibling tributes from District 1 invite me over to make hammocks, but all I can think about when I'm with them is how I killed both their tributes last year, Marvel and Glimmer. Our conversation and my hammock are mediocre.

I talk with Finnick some more at the fishing station, where he introduces me to his district partner, Mags. We busy ourselves with making fish hooks while enjoying a light conversation, well me and Finnick anyway. I can't really understand Mags, what with her district accent and then her garbled speech. Perhaps she had a stroke? Either way, I quickly gather a lot of respect for Mags. She can make a fish hook out of anything. A hair pin, a wishbone, a thorn, an earring. I forgo listening to the instructor and simply to copy Mags. When I make a fish hook out of a nail and attach it to a strand of my own hair, Mags says something to me, and from Finnick's smile, I realize that whatever she said was complimentary. Finnick seems to have no trouble understanding Mags.

I decide that I like Mags. I want her as an ally.

After all, we have something in common, aside from being victors. I remember the beautiful, yet hysterical dark-haired woman at the reaping in 4. Mags had volunteered for her, like I had volunteered for Prim. Mags and I share that connection, and it automatically makes me trust her more than any of the other victors.

By mid afternoon I'm getting tired and have the strangest urge to take a nap. Damn pregnancy hormones. To try and keep myself alert, I head to the archery station, which will require absolute focus. It quickly becomes apparent to the instructor that the standing targets are nothing to me. I send arrow after arrow into the bull's-eye, so the instructor decides to present a 'challenge.' He takes out these stuffed birds and begins to toss them in the air for me to shoot. It seems silly at first, but it turns out to be the most fun I've had all day. After I manage to shoot five birds in one round, I realize that the gym is unusually quiet. I turn around and find everyone staring at me, wearing expressions varying from admiration to jealousy to hatred. Okay, so I just gained some admirers and some enemies. All in a day's work.

The next two days of training pass like this. Peeta and I continue to mingle, but it's easy to see that the lines have already been drawn. Districts 1 and 2 have obviously joined up together, forming the typical Career Pack, while me, Peeta, Finnick, and Johanna seem to be the other imposing force. Of course, Mags is with us too, and though Beetee and Wiress keep to themselves a lot, it's obvious that they're with us. I really can't tell where Chaff and Seeder stand.

Haymitch hasn't spoken another word about the rebellion or the break out or District 13, and I don't expect him to. He said his piece the other night, and he won't be repeating it. Honestly, sometimes I can't decide if knowing about the plan to break out is a good thing or not. Because while it's somewhat reassuring to know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel, if Beetee and Wiress work their magic, it also threatens to make me more relaxed in the arena. I might let my guard down and that could not only cost me my life, but the baby's as well. I refuse to let my own stupidity end my child's life before it's really even begun. It's like what Haymitch said. Yes, we may break out, but we've got to survive long enough to reach that point. People will still try to kill us, tributes and Gamemakers alike.

It's these thoughts that threaten to overwhelm me, and my nightmares continue to be as dark and twisted as ever. However, I still manage to find a light amidst the darkness, and that light is Peeta, who always seems to be able to put a smile on my face. Watching him and Finnick in training, you'd think they'd been best friends for years, and together they work to keep me laughing and smiling. Even Johanna, who I'm still wary of, will make a snarky comment every once in a while that will get me to smile.

The final day of training ends with our private sessions with the Gamemakers, and it's proving to be a joke between everyone. After all, what can we possibly do to surprise them? They all know our strengths, our weaknesses. What's to show? This prompts a string of hilarious scenarios of things that they might do. Finnick says he might just go for it and strip. Cashmere flips her hair and says that she might sing, "I'm A Little Teapot," which causes everyone to laugh. Chaff says that he might dance and do something called the 'running man.'

Mags says she's going to take a nap.

But too quickly, the cafeteria slowly grows quieter as everyone goes to their private session. I'm going to be the last to go, since I'm the girl from District 12. I have no idea what I'm going to show the Gamemakers. I can't exactly shoot an arrow at them like I did last year.

I lean my head on Peeta's shoulder and close my eyes. Honestly, I could care less what I do for the Gamemakers. I learned this morning that I detest the smell of fried potatoes and that it gives me the strong urge to vomit. I barely made it to the bathroom in time. Ever since this morning, that nauseous feeling has stuck with me, and I can't seem to shake it.

"Are you alright?" Peeta asks concerned.

"No," I moan, knowing I sound pitiful, but at this point, I really don't care. I'm pregnant. Universal excuse to feel, act, and say anything I want.

Still, showing weakness will always be a pet peeve of mine, so I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and sit up straight. "I'll be fine," I say, reassuring Peeta, who still looks worried. I try to distract him. "What are you going to do for the Gamemakers?"

Peeta shrugs. "No idea."

"You could do some camouflage," I suggest, and Peeta chuckles.

"Yeah, if the morphlings have left me anything to work with."

"You could see how many pushups you can do in fifteen minutes."

Peeta rolls his eyes. "I bet that's what Brutus did," he says and I grin. "What about you? You know what you're going to do?"

"Nope." I would shake my head, but I don't want to risk the action making me feel the need to toss my lunch. "I can't really use the Gamemakers for target practice this year." I sigh and close my eyes briefly. "At this point, I'm wondering if I might just skip out."

"Can we do that?" Peeta asks and I shrug.

"Only one way to find out."

But before Peeta and I can test my theory, he is called. He gives me a quick kiss and then disappears into the training room. I sit quietly before eventually laying my head on the table and closing my eyes. But as the minutes pass, I begin to grow anxious. Fifteen minutes pass and I'm not called. Thirty minutes pass and I'm worried. What's happened? I should have already been through my session by now. Did Peeta do something? What's wrong?

Ten more minutes pass before I'm finally called, and the moment I step into the training room, I'm hit with the sharp smell of heavy duty cleaning agents. A large mat has been dragged to the center of the room, and I frown. My eyes find the Gamemakers, and unlike last year they are very alert. And upset.

_What did you do, Peeta?_

I slowly walk into the room, debating all the while what the hell I'm going to do. Whatever Peeta did must have been something, because the Gamemakers are agitated. What could Peeta have done to put them in such a state? I think of a better question. Why? Why would he do something so provoking? The answer hits me like a ton of bricks. For me. Whatever he did, he did for me, to put more attention on _him_. Anger flows through my veins. Damn him. I should have known that Peeta would do something like this. Even if we plan on breaking out of the arena, we still have to survive long enough to get to that point. Peeta is, once again, trying to protect me in whatever way he can.

I really hate it when he does these things, especially when it puts _him_ in even more danger. Well, he forgot that we made a deal. We're in this together. So if he's going to upset the Gamemakers, then so am I.

I study them for a moment, when my eyes land on Plutarch Heavensbee, Head Gamemaker, and secret spy for District 13. He's on my side . . .

And that leads me to think of another Head Gamemaker who was on my side, in a way at least. After all, he did allow Peeta and me to live . . .

I know what I'm going to do.

It's crazy, but I'm motivated partly out of spite and partly because of Peeta. Now, you'd probably think that I'd try and play it safe and not do anything that could cause more harm to me and by extension the little life growing within me. After all, the last thing I need is to paint a target on my back. But the thing is, I've already got a target on my back, painted by none other than President Snow himself. I'm in danger no matter what I do, or whatever Peeta does to deflect attention from me. There's no making my situation any better, and aside from blowing me up while I'm still on my platform, there's no making my situation any worse. Besides, Snow wouldn't do that anyway. It'd be a stupid, obvious move, and he's not so kind as to make my death that quick.

My mind made up, I quickly head to the knot tying station. I begin manipulating a length of rope. It's a difficult knot to begin with, and it doesn't help that I've only seen the knot done once by very quick and practiced fingers. Still, I manage to complete my noose.

Knowing that I don't have much time left, I quickly grab the noose and take one of the dummies from the target station and slip the noose over its head. I hang it from some chinning bars, and take a step back to admire my work. Figuring I've got about five minutes to spare, I hurry over to the camouflage station. The morphlings have made a complete mess, but I manage to find some red berry juice to serve my purposes.

I hurry back over to the dummy, and stand in front of it so that the Gamemakers can't see what I'm writing. Carefully, I finger paint the words in all caps, the absorbent canvas of the dummy really suiting my purposes nicely. When I'm finished, I feel very satisfied with my work. I bet that whatever Peeta did, I just blew out of the water.

I take a step back, revealing my work to the Gamemakers, allowing them to read the name on the dummy.

_SENECA CRANE._

* * *

**And there we go. I seriously debated not having her hang Seneca Crane . . . but, come on . . . that's one of the coolest, gutsy things Katniss did in the entire series. I had to keep it, just add a little bit of a twist on her reasoning.**_  
_

**Alas, next chapter is the interviews! What, oh what, could I have planned? *cue evil laugh*  
**

**So! This is typically when I would give you a quote from the next chapter, but that's not happening! Nope, I'm giving you a quote from _Come Rain or Come Shine_, my version of _Mockingjay_ instead. I hope you don't mind. ;)  
**

**Quote comes from . . . Haymitch!  
**

**"If you show up in a big-ass wig tomorrow morning and four-inch heels, I'll disown you."**

**I figured a little lightheartedness was warranted. Most of the quotes I thought of posting were either too spoilerish just too depressing.  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Hey guys! To all of my American readers, I wish you a belated Happy Thanksgiving! I hope all of you ate an egregious amount of food like I did. (And let me tell you, it was _awesome_.) Even if a few long jogs are in my future, it will be oh, so worth it.  
**

**And Black Friday shopping at two o'clock this morning was fun, too. :D  
**

**So, I've gotten four hours of sleep so far, and I plan on adding to that as soon as I finish typing this. A girl needs her Zzz's.  
**

**Movie quote of the day comes from _Hitch_.  
**

**"Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom." - Will Smith  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."**

* * *

Chapter 26

Shock. Horror. Disgust. Fear.

These are the expressions I see on the Gamemaker's faces as they look at the dummy, the dummy I've made to be Seneca Crane. Wine glasses are crushed in tight, shocked fists, the tinkling sound of the glass dancing across the floor. Food is forgotten or abandoned in route to one's mouth. It's like someone hit the freeze button for the universe. We all stare at each other, though I only have eyes for Plutarch, who looks impressively stoic. I know I must have caught him off guard, but he's managed to control his expression into a tight mask.

"You may go now, Ms. Everdeen," he says, his voice controlled.

I give them a respectful nod, and then turn to go. But I just can't resist adding a little bit more of a dramatic flair, and I absently toss the can of red berry juice over my shoulder. The Gamemakers gasp as the splash soaks the dummy, the can clanking to the floor.

_Beat that, Peeta, _I think.

While in the elevator, I ponder my actions. It wasn't my brightest move, but I don't regret it. In fact, I feel very satisfied. Peeta will be beyond pissed when he finds out what I've done, but I don't care. He should have known that I wouldn't let him shoulder all the danger. We're in this together, and together we'll stay. For better or worse.

When I step off the elevator, there's no one in sight. I decide that they must be getting ready for dinner, and so I go to my room to do the same. That refreshed, cleansed feeling I always get after taking a nice, long, hot shower always relaxes me. So when I step out of my steam-filled bathroom, I'm as cool as a cucumber. But at the same time, I can't help but think that this is just the calm before the storm.

I still have to yell at Peeta for being an overprotective fool.

He's not in his bedroom, but I hear the shower going in the bathroom, so I sit on his bed to wait. It's another minute or so before I hear the water shut off, and then another minute before my idiot of an overprotective husband finally makes an appearance.

A dark pair of jeans is slung low on his hips. In one hand is his shirt, and in the other is a towel, which he's currently using to dry his hair. On any other day, I would be very distracted, especially when I notice the little droplets of water that are slowly running down his chest.

But now I barely make a note of it. I'm much more interested in hearing him defend himself for being an idiot. "What did you do?" I question accusingly, and Peeta looks up mildly.

"Hello to you, too."

I scowl, and Peeta sighs in defeat. "I painted a picture." He holds up his hands, which are still stained in a multitude of colors, despite having obviously just gotten out of the shower. "Using the dyes."

"What did you paint?"

"Rue."

For a moment my ire fades as I remember sweet, little Rue, my ally in the arena when I was separated from Peeta. She was such a clever girl, reminding me so much of Prim. Peeta must see my silence as a prompt to continue, so he sits down on the bed beside me and explains, "I didn't know what I was going to do when I walked in. The morphlings hadn't left much to work with, but they'd left most of the dyes alone. There was this rich purple, and it reminded me of the flowers you placed around Rue, and I just got to thinking that her death was the most despicable, even if none of the deaths were very pretty. And so I just painted her, how you'd described to me, with a peaceful expression and a halo of flowers."

His explanation isn't what I expected. Of all the things that I thought he could have done, I didn't think he'd paint Rue. And so far he hasn't mentioned his actions having anything to do with me. "So . . . you weren't trying to draw attention away from me to protect me?"

Peeta chuckles. "Not initially. Of course, after I walked out the thought crossed my mind. Not a bad thing."

My anger is back. "It is a bad thing," I snap. Being close to him suddenly isn't so appealing, and so I get to my feet and spin around to face him, my arms folded across my chest. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"I'm trying to keep you alive," Peeta retorts, his eyes growing hard, and I know that he won't be swayed. "Everyone is going to be out to get us in the arena anyway, Gamemakers and tributes alike. So if I can do anything to make me look like a better target, I'm going to do it. And I don't care if you don't like it; you're going to get out of that arena alive, by any means necessary."

"I don't want you dying for me," I growl. "I never asked you to die for me."

"You didn't have to."

Peeta and I stare at each other for a long moment, neither of us willing to back down. We're both far too stubborn for our own good, and it makes nearly all our arguments end in a stalemate. I'm not the type to give in, and Peeta will never back down if he thinks he's right.

"So what did you do for your session?" Peeta finally asks, completely disregarding our argument, trying to change the subject because he knows neither of us is going to concede to the other.

Little does he know that this tactic isn't going to work. "I hung Seneca Crane."

"You _what?"_ Peeta asks, anger and incredulity ringing in his tone.

"I was showing off my knot tying skills," I shrug casually. "Somehow he ended up on the end of the noose."

"And you're asking me if _I_ have a death wish?" Peeta snaps. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that we're in this together!" I try to keep my voice down, but it's growing to be more and more difficult. I want nothing more than to shout at him at the top of my lungs. "We agreed! Promises were made, and I intend to hold you to them!"

Peeta opens his mouth to say something, but immediately shuts it. Instead, he quickly throws on his shirt, and grabs my hand, leading me out the door. I know without asking where we're going, and I jerk my hand from his to stomp up the stairs to the roof ahead of him. Good. We can say what we really want, without worrying about listening devices.

I spin around to face him the moment I'm in the garden, and Peeta is already glaring at me. "Listen," he snaps. "Things are different now. It's not just you and me! You can't go around just asking, no, _begging_, for Gamemakers to kill you. Last year with the arrow was one thing, but this year? Hanging Seneca Crane? Really, Katniss? Just what in the hell have you accomplished? Aside from painting a big red X over your face? I'm trying to protect you, but damn it, you're making it difficult!"

"I never asked for you to protect me!" I hiss. "I never asked for _anyone_ to protect me. I can take care of myself!"

"But it's not just you anymore!" Peeta retorts, a pleading edge in his voice. "Don't you get it? Your actions no longer just affect you. If you die, our child dies, and I can't let that happen."

"You think I haven't thought of that?" I feel traitorous tears pricking in my eyes. Damn hormones. "Peeta, that's all I think about! Every minute of every day, that's all I think about! How do you think it feels? Knowing that I might have to choose between me and you? If the situation comes up in the arena, when I have to choose whether to save myself and our child instead of you—how do you think I feel knowing that might happen? I can't choose."

A light seems to shimmer in Peeta's eyes, and a sad smile appears on his face. "Yes you can," he says softly. "You already have."

That's what causes me to break, because he's right, no matter how much I wish I could deny it. I remember my dream the morning of the reaping. I had to choose between Peeta and our child. I chose our child. And, no matter how much pain rips through my chest at the thought, I know that I would make the same decision in real life. However, that doesn't mean that I have any intention of letting my worst nightmare come to fruition.

"I'm not going to make that decision." Determination fills me. We can't go into the Games worrying about what _could_ happen. We have to focus on what _is_ happening. Right now, we're both alive, and that's how it's going to stay. "We're going to survive. We're going to escape. And then we're going to make Snow regret the day he ever reaped our names."

"I'm not saying we won't," Peeta says gently. "And I have every intention of staying alive." His hand comes up to caress my cheek. "I did make a promise, and I intend to keep it. Leaving you is the last thing I want to do, but if the time comes when—"

"I know," I interrupt him, really not wanting to hear him talk any more about dying for me. Unable to stand the distance between us any longer, I step into his waiting arms and rest my head against his chest, listening to the wonderful, lively sound of his heartbeat.

"I really hate it when we fight," Peeta says quietly after a moment.

"Me too," I confess. "It's not fun."

"Good thing we don't fight too often."

I smile. "Only about every other day."

"Hey," Peeta objects. "Those aren't arguments! We bicker, okay? A lot."

"Bickering would imply that it's somewhat lighthearted," I argue.

"We bicker."

"Do not."

"Yeah, we do."

"No, we don't."

"All the time."

"No we don't."

"Kind of like now."

"This isn't bickering. This is just being ridiculous."

"Yeah," Peeta grins. "But it broke through all that tension."

I can't help but smile at his antics.

"Hungry?" I ask.

"Definitely." Peeta takes my hand and for a moment, the levity dissolves and the severity of before take its place. If the moment ever arises, Peeta will die for me, and I'll let him, no matter how much pain I know it will bring me. But, Peeta's right. Everything we do isn't for us anymore. It's all about our child. That's what all of this is for, our participation in the rebellion. It's all to make a better world for our child. That's what we're fighting for.

I tighten my hold on Peeta's hand, and together we go down to the dining room. Haymitch, Effie, Cinna, and Portia are waiting for us and it's obvious that they're slightly agitated. "Where have you two been?" Haymitch snaps.

Take that back, only Haymitch is agitated.

"On the roof," Peeta replies. "We had to talk, and we really didn't want to disturb everyone with our yelling."

"You had a fight?" Portia frowns. "Everything okay?"

No, everything is not okay. "Everything's fine," I say. "We were both being stubborn."

Haymitch huffs and mutters under his breath something that sounds suspiciously like, "Imagine that."

Our food is served, and for a moment everyone is quiet as we all focus on our dinner. Roasted pheasant with potatoes, which are thankfully _not_ fried, and green beans sautéed in butter—all served with a big basket of rolls, which seem to be a staple for any meal in the Capitol. I'm picking off Peeta's plate, despite his mild protest, when Haymitch says, "So how were your sessions?"

Peeta and I both glance at each other before looking at the table, studiously ignoring our mentor's gaze. "I painted a picture," Peeta finally says, deciding to speak first.

"What did you paint, Peeta?" Effie asks, her eyes oddly misty. Why? "Was it a picture of Katniss? To show that you'll do anything to defend her? That's what everyone in the Capitol is expecting."

Of course, she would think Peeta drew a picture of me. To show his undying love and yada, yada, yada . . . it's times like these when I'm reminded that Effie, despite her quirks that I've gotten used to, is definitely from the Capitol. She's just as entrenched in our love story as everyone else.

"No, actually I painted Rue," Peeta answers. "How she looked after Katniss had covered her in flowers."

Everyone at the table is completely silent.

"I guess this is a bad time to tell you that I hung a dummy and painted Seneca Crane's name on it," I say and the silence at the table screams.

Finally, Cinna manages to collect himself. "You . . . hung . . . Seneca Crane?"

I give him the same excuse I gave Peeta. "Yes. I was showing off my new knot-tying skills, and he somehow ended up at the end of the noose."

"You'd have thought we planned it," Peeta says to me, his lips forming a ghost of a smile.

"Didn't you?" Portia asks, rubbing her temple with a delicate hand as though she has a headache.

"No," Peeta replies. "We didn't have a clue what we were going to do before we went in."

"You're both idiots," Haymitch says, giving us a hard look. We know exactly what he's thinking. We've only made things harder on ourselves, if it's even possible. Maybe I'm banking too much on the fact that Plutarch is on our side. After all, he controls the Games, but then again he can't do much without tipping his hand to Snow and revealing himself as a rebel. No doubt Snow is cracking down on those closest to him. But still, I don't regret my action, and I know that Peeta doesn't either.

"Yes, but we're your idiots," I tell him, prompting Haymitch to scowl like he can't stand the sight of us.

We finish eating in silence, and then move into the living room to see the training scores. Peeta and I share the couch with Cinna and Portia, while Effie sinks into the easy chair. Haymitch looks too mad to sit, instead choosing to stand. We watch the tributes faces pop up on the screen, their scores flashing underneath their names. Districts 1 through 12 flash by and all the scores are predictable. Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria, Brutus, and Finnick all score high, while the rest of the tributes are stuck with low to medium scores.

"Have they ever given a zero, before?" I wonder, glancing at Cinna.

"There's a first time for everything."

And his words prove to be true. For the first time ever in the history of the games, a perfect score of _12_ is given. The two lucky tributes? Me and Peeta.

"Why would they do that?"

"So that the others will have no choice but to target you," Haymitch tells me flatly. "Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either one of you."

Without another word, Haymitch leaves, presumably to drink himself into oblivion, and Peeta and I go to my room. We're both quiet for a while, busying ourselves with getting ready for bed. It's funny how attuned we've become to each other. We easily stay out of each other's way, and somehow Peeta knows to toss me a shirt before I'm even able to think to ask for one.

I'm under the covers first, and the moment Peeta is within reach I grab his hand and pull him down to me. Our lips meet, and I sigh contentedly at the feel of Peeta's weight pressed gently against me. My hands slide up and down his back as Peeta's lips trail along my neck. I know that we won't do anything more than kiss, but that doesn't mean that I'm not enjoying every second. It reminds me of the early days in our relationship, when Peeta's hands stayed resolutely at my waist and never wandered, but I never really noticed because I was still overwhelmed by the feel of his lips against mine.

The thought causes me to smile, and Peeta pauses to glance at me. "What?"

"Just thinking," I say. "About the good old days. You know, when we just kissed and your hands never left my waist."

This prompts both Peeta and I to laugh because his hands are currently nowhere near my waist. "Do you realize how difficult that was?" he asks. "The girl of my dreams kissing me like her life depends on it, and I'm too terrified to do anything else because I really don't want to screw it up." Peeta grins. "But then again, I was also a hormonal teenage boy who was being kissed by the girl who I'd been in love with for years. Keeping my hands on your waist was an intense inner struggle."

I can't help but laugh. By now, Peeta is lying on his back, and my head is resting on his shoulder as I absently let my fingers dance across his chest. "We've come a long way," I say softly as his arms come up to surround me. "So much has changed."

"Yeah, just think of where we were this time last year," Peeta says and I scoff.

"You were not sleeping with me."

"Only in my dreams."

A thought occurs to me, and I lift my head from his chest so I can see his face. "The night before the games when I invited you into my room," I say. "What were you thinking?"

Peeta grins. "So many things that were not very gentlemanly."

I blush and hide my face in the crook of his neck. "I knew it," I mumble. "I did not mean it that way!"

"Hey, the girl I love secretly invites me into her room in the middle of the night? I'm a guy. My mind was racing with possibilities." Peeta holds me tighter as he continues, his voice soft and gentle, "But I was just hoping that maybe, just maybe, I might get to hold you."

I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

The next morning I awake to bright, early morning sun streaming through the windows. I'm able to relish the sun on my face for all of five seconds before I feel the beginnings of the nausea I've regrettably become intensely familiar with the past few weeks. I rush to the bathroom just in time to vomit. Gentle hands pull back my hair, but I motion for him to leave. "Go," I try to put some authority in my voice and fail spectacularly. "You don't need to see this."

"I'm not going anywhere," Peeta argues gently, and I groan in defeat.

After another bout of sickness, I finally begin to feel a little better, and this time when I shoo Peeta away, he does what I ask. Thank goodness. I brush my teeth twice, braid my hair, and splash some water on my face before returning to the bedroom.

"No coaching lessons," Peeta tells me when I step into the room.

My eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yeah." Peeta hands me a piece of paper and I see that it's a note from Effie. She says that both she and Haymitch think we've had enough practice on the Victory Tour to be able to act appropriately.

"So we have the whole day to ourselves?" I ask, excitement beginning to creep into my voice.

"Exactly," Peeta grins. "So what do you want to do?"

"Let's go on the roof," I decide. "And have a . . . picnic. With lots of food."

"Okay, here's the plan," Peeta says and I roll my eyes. Must he always have a plan? "I get the food, you get the blankets, meet you up there in ten?"

"Got it," I say and Peeta gives me a quick kiss and then hurries from the room, not bothering with a shirt.

Men.

I, on the other hand, get dressed properly and grab the blankets that I've been tasked with bringing up to the roof. I've just spread them out in the garden when Peeta appears, now wearing a shirt, with a whole tray of food, and the redheaded Avox girl carries another tray behind him.

I raise my eyebrows at the two trays laden with more food than we could possibly eat. Peeta sees my look, "You said to bring a lot of food."

My witty response is forgotten when I see chocolate-covered strawberries. "Never mind," I say as I take one, ignoring Peeta's laugh.

We spend the entire day lounging around, soaking up the sun and enjoying the light breeze. We kiss and share gentle touches. We eat more food than I would have thought possible. And we're able to entertain ourselves with a game that involves one of us tossing an apple against the force field and the other having to catch it. The game ends when I toss the apple and it hits Peeta in the head. I can't help but laugh at his short, yet very colorful cursing.

He spends the next five minutes chasing me for laughing at him.

Finally, we both collapse onto the blanket and settle into a peaceful silence. Peeta draws in his sketchbook, and I snag some vines and work on my newfound knot-tying skills. But eventually, both of us abandon our activities. I rest my head in his lap, and he gently takes my hair out of its braid and begins to play with it.

I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. Because for the time being, I can forget about everything that's happening and focus on what means the most. Sharing a day with Peeta, free from the Capitol's clutches, if only for a little while. For the first time in a long time, it's just me and Peeta.

"I wish I could freeze this moment," Peeta speaks for the first time in hours, his hands stilling in my hair. "Right here, right now, and live in it forever."

"I don't," I say softly. "Well, this isn't the moment I would choose, at least."

"Oh, really?" Peeta asks amused, but curious. "Which moment would you want to live in forever?"

"The day of our toasting." The answer comes easily to me, because honestly that was the best day of my life. One of the few where I had no worries at all and simply got to enjoy life. I played in the snow like a normal person. I married the man I love, and shared all of myself with him. "That would be the perfect moment."

I don't think I've ever seen Peeta smile this way before. Soft and loving, yet bittersweet. "I think you're right. Too bad we can't go back in time."

"But then we couldn't create new moments," I tell him, sitting up so that I can wrap my arms around his neck. "And that seems like such a waste."

"I think you're right, again," Peeta smiles before giving me a sweet kiss.

We watch the sunset, and I cherish ever second of its beauty. It's funny really. I prefer sunsets because they tell me that I've survived another day. Peeta prefers sunrises because it's the dawn of a new day, with new possibilities. Either way, both are beautiful.

The next day is filled with a flurry of activity as Peeta and I are prepped for our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. As he promised, it's apparent that Cinna talked to my prep team about controlling their emotions. And while I don't have to put up with their blubbering, their silence is almost just as bad. Octavia has to step out frequently. She's been a mess since we first started, especially when she found me and Peeta in the same bed again this morning. Flavius eventually abandons his scissors when his tears get the best of him, and it's up to Venia to finish prepping me. She sets her jaw determinedly and makes me over, her fingers flying due to the lack of help. When she declares that I'm done, she takes my hands in both of hers, and says, "We would all like you to know what a . . . privilege it has been to make you look your best."

Then she bolts from the room.

My prep team, while ignorant and childish, has slowly wormed their way into my heart. I wonder what will happen to them once the rebellion starts. Will they be punished because of their association with me? I don't know. What I _do_ know is that they think I will not be returning. That may very well be true, but I sincerely hope it's not. I don't plan on dying any time soon. I refuse to give Snow that satisfaction.

Cinna comes in, a garment bag hung over his arm like always. There's no danger of tears from Cinna, though I know he thinks that my time on this earth is winding down. "So, what am I wearing tonight?" I ask.

"President Snow put in the dress order himself." I frown in confusion, and a sense of foreboding builds within me as he unzips the bag.

I scowl. It's a wedding dress.

Cinna sees my expression and explains. "Even though they announced the Quarter Quell the night of the photo shoot, people still voted for their favorite dress, and this was the winner. The president says you're to wear it tonight. Our objections were ignored."

"I bet they were," I say as I eye the dress. It's the pearl dress. Cascading creamy white silk and pearls. Everywhere the dress is studded with pearls. President Snow has turned my wedding dress into my shroud. How poetic of him.

Cinna helps me into the dress, and I sag under the weight of it for a moment before I get my bearings. "I don't remember it being this heavy," I say. The thing weighs a ton.

"I had to make some adjustments for lighting," Cinna replies, and I don't have time to question him further before he has me walk around, so I can get reacquainted with the dress.

"You're ravishing," he says with a small smile. "Now, Katniss, because this bodice is so fitted, I don't want you raising your arms above your head. Well, not until you twirl, anyway."

"I'm twirling, again?"

"I'm sure Caesar will ask you. And if he doesn't, you suggest it yourself. Only not right away. Save it for your big finale," he tells me, and I get the feeling that my twirling has a much greater significance that merely revisiting my previous interview and twirling for old time's sake.

"Alright," I agree. "You give me a signal so I know when."

"Any plans for the interview this year?" Cinna asks as we begin to make our way to the elevators to meet the rest of our District 12 entourage.

"No, I'm just going to wing it," I tell him honestly. "It's funny, actually. I'm not nervous at all."

And it's true. I'm not nervous. Why would I be? The cameras don't bother me anymore. Instead of making me nervous, they just annoy me. Besides, the audience doesn't intimidate me at all this year. I have them wrapped around my finger.

Cinna and I meet Peeta, Portia, and Haymitch at the elevator. Peeta is dressed in an elegant black tuxedo with white gloves, the proper attire for a groom according to the Capitol. And while Peeta looks handsome, I can't help but think he looked even better in the jeans and t-shirt he wore at our toasting.

"You're beautiful," Peeta says softly, smiling when he sees my blush.

"A blushing bride," Portia comments, prompting an even deeper blush to stain my cheeks. "You look lovely."

"Thanks." Peeta takes my hand and together we make our way to the back of the stage where we'll wait until it's time for the interviews.

While we're walking, Peeta looks down at me. "Katniss, do you trust me?"

"You know I do." I draw my eyebrows together in confusion. "Why are you asking?"

"You know when I said that I had a plan? On the train?" he asks.

"I remember you saying that you were _working out_ a plan . . ."

"Yeah, well, it's been worked out." Peeta looks nervous, an emotion that I rarely see from him. "But I can't tell you, and you have to promise not to hate me afterward."

I pull on his hand, causing us both to stop walking. "What are you going to say?" I ask him seriously. "Nothing can top what you said last year."

"We'll see." Peeta shuffles his feet. Oh, great. He's fidgety. This is bad. "Just . . . trust me, okay?"

"Okay," I agree, wondering what in the world Peeta could plan to say that would make him this nervous. He was as calm as he could be last year. But before we do anything else, I have to set him straight on something. "And Peeta, no matter what you do, I could never hate you."

Peeta gives me a small smile, squeezing my hand. "Good to know."

When we arrive backstage, all attention is immediately on us. Silence permeates the air as their eyes fall on my wedding dress, glaring at it like its some fiend. Finally, Finnick breaks. "I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing."

"President Snow made him," I immediately defend. No one insults Cinna. "He didn't have a choice."

"Well, you look ridiculous!" Cashmere says with a flip of her hair before walking past us, grabbing her brother's hand and leading him to the front of the line. Being from District 1, they will be the first to walk onto the stage, while Peeta and I will bring up the rear.

The other tributes begin to follow suit, most of them completely ignoring us, except for Finnick, who claps Peeta on the shoulder and gives me a smile that holds none of its usual brightness, but it's still genuine. What surprises me the most is Johanna, who stops to straighten my pearl necklace and says, "Make him pay for it, okay?"

I truly realize the depth of Johanna's statement when we're all sitting on the stage, and the interviews have begun. The betrayal that the victors feel by being recalled to the arena is so apparent . . . and everyone is so, so brilliant with how they play it. Cashmere has an entire spiel about how she just can't seem to stop crying because she can't help but be tormented by the thought of the Capitol's suffering over how they will lose us. Gloss talks about the generosity of the Capitol and how he's always thought that they were the kindest people to both him and his sister. Beetee, in his quick, quiet voice, questions if the Quell is even legal. Finnick throws the audience into a state when he recites a poem for his one true love, causing nearly a hundred girls to faint because they just know that he's referring to them. Johanna wonders if something can be done about the Quell, because surely, no one could have anticipated the love between the victors and the Capitol. It would be cruel to cut such a deep bond. Seeder speaks of how everyone in District 11 thinks that President Snow is all-powerful and could change the Quell, and Chaff immediately follows up and insists that President Snow could do something, but he must not think it matters much to anyone.

And then Caesar calls my name.

Almost instantaneously, the audience is in an uproar. They've been crying and calling out, but the sight of me in my wedding gown causes them to completely breakdown. Shouts and anguished cries fill the air as I take my seat beside Caesar. Even Caesar, whose hair and makeup is lavender this year, has to resort to using all his years of professionalism as he tries to calm the wild audience. I can hear the three minute clock for my interview just ticking away in my mind. The Capitol seems to have finally realized that because of the Quell, there will be no wedding. No more star-crossed lovers of District 12. No happily ever after. They realize that mine and Peeta's story only ends in death.

Finally, there's a break in the noise, and Caesar manages to ask, "So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you'd like to say?"

I don't have to work to make my voice tremble. While I'm not nervous, my hormones are messing with my emotions. Seeing the Capitol upset is actually making me upset, which then in turn makes me angry. Honestly, I don't know how I'm going to deal with this for seven more months.

But back to the question. "Only that I'm so sorry you won't get to be at my wedding . . . but I'm glad you at least got to see me in my dress. Isn't it just the most beautiful thing?"

As if I'm going from a script, I immediately rise from my chair and begin to twirl. I don't need Cinna's cue. When the screaming starts, I think it's because of my dress and my twirling, but when I see smoke beginning to rise up around me, I panic momentarily and stupidly try to twirl faster. This only causes the smoke to rise up even quicker, cocooning me in a grey shield that hides me from the eyes of the audience and everyone on stage. I realize that Cinna must have a hand in this and that's why I'm not burning, so I continue to twirl.

The fire burning my dress is not like the flames I wore last year. These are much more real and seemingly deadly. The flames devour my dress. Charred, blackened bits of silk fall to the floor along with the many pearls that adorned the dress. With one final spin, the flames immediately extinguish, leaving me perplexed and smoking slightly.

For a split second, I think that I'm naked. With my dress burned away, I feel so much lighter. But when my hands find my stomach, I feel a light texture beneath my fingertips. I look at my new outfit and see that the new dress I wear is in exactly the same style as my wedding dress, except it's pitch black and made of tiny, soft feathers. Dazedly, I lift my long sleeves that flow to the floor. And that's when I see myself on a television screen.

Awed, I see myself wrapped in black except for my sleeves, or rather wings, which are white. I realize what Cinna has done.

Cinna has turned me into a mockingjay.

Smoke still tenuously rises from my dress, so it's with a cautious hand that Caesar reaches out to touch my dress. "Feathers," he murmurs. "You're like a bird."

"A mockingjay, I think," I reply, as I wonderingly give my wings a small flap. For some reason I feel the need to add, "It's the bird on the pin I wear as a token."

The full force of my words hit me like a Capitol train. My token. The mockingjay. My _symbol_.

The mockingjay is the symbol for the rebellion . . . oh, Cinna, what have you done?

His words float through my mind . . . _Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself._

I'm immediately filled with worry for my friend. This is a blatant show of rebellion. While the people of the Capitol might not see it for what it truly is, President Snow will. And Cinna will be punished, I have no doubt. Cinna, what have you done? My new costume is resonating throughout the districts, a symbol of hope and a will to fight.

I can tell that Caesar realizes the depth of this bold statement. There's flicker of recognition in his eyes. But, being the great host he is, he manages to make the best of it. "Well, hats off to your stylist. I don't think anyone can argue that that's not the most spectacular thing we've ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!"

Cinna stands and takes a small, gracious bow. I swear for a moment his eyes meet mine, and I know that he knows _exactly_ what he's done and he'd do it all over again without hesitation. Cinna is one of the bravest men I know.

The audience, of course, immediately breaks out into a wild applause, shouting praises at Cinna. He accepts them all with a small wave of his hand and a slight nod before returning to his seat, even if his applause isn't anywhere near finished. They're still applauding when the buzzer for my interview goes off, and Caesar thanks me and I make my way back to my seat.

As Peeta passes me, our hands touch briefly, and suddenly all my anxiety I feel for Cinna has transferred to Peeta. What is he planning to say? I know Peeta. I know that it has to involve me somehow, and be a part of some wild, crazy plan to protect me. Last year he admitted his love for me to make me more desirable. After all, everyone already loved Peeta. And they would love what he loved. Lucky me.

I just didn't realize it then.

So what could Peeta possibly be planning to say that's got him so nervous?

Of course, when his interview begins, he and Caesar immediately slip into an easy conversation full of wit, jokes, and perfect comedic timing from the both of them. This is the angle Peeta was going to play during his interview last year, but after my story with the bread, Caesar immediately skipped to Peeta's thoughts on the matter. No intro to warm up to things.

Caesar gets down to the questions after a minute of joking about poultry and fires and feathers. No one knows Peeta like I do, but even the Capitol can tell that he seems preoccupied. Oh, Peeta, what are you going to do?

"So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you've been through, you found out about the Quell?" Caesar asks.

My mind is immediately thrown back to that night. My horror and shock, fleeing into his bedroom, the safest place I could think of. Peeta comforting me with his words and then our desperate passion that followed . . .

"I was in shock," Peeta answers, and I can tell that he's thinking of that night just as I am. "I mean, one minute I'm seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and then the next . . ." he trails off, like the words that follow are too much to speak. Wow, he's good at this.

"You realized there was never going to be a wedding?" Caesar suggests gently.

I'm watching Peeta closely. He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he looks up at the audience, and then back to the floor. He glances at Caesar, and then finally his gaze rests on me. We hold each other's gaze for a solid five seconds and I see a decision reflected in his eyes.

Peeta looks back at Caesar. "Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?"

Keep a secret? The whole nation is watching. Peeta, what are you getting at?

"I feel quite certain of it," Caesar says.

The entire room is utterly silent, and the anticipation building in the air is nearly palpable. Just when I think everyone is about to crack under the pressure, Peeta takes a deep breath and says, "We're already married."

For a moment, betrayal stings so sharply within me that I nearly cry out. What in the hell does Peeta think he's doing? That was our moment, our time, our secret! One that was made specifically so we wouldn't conform to the Capitol's demands.

But just when the anger is about to take over, I remember that Peeta always has a plan, and he thinks them through thoroughly and analyzes every possible flaw or outcome. He wouldn't admit this lightly, cavalierly. No, Peeta has a plan. I'm able to calm myself with this thought. He has a plan. He has a _reason_.

Luckily for me, my expression showed none of my fiery turmoil. Instead, I showed surprise and shock, exactly like the crowd. Caesar gaps for a moment before he finally manages to ask, "But . . . how can that be?"

"Oh, it's not an official marriage," Peeta says, even if it is completely official to us. "We didn't go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District 12. I don't know what it's like in the other districts, but there's this thing we do," he continues on to describe the toasting, but I hardly hear him. All I see or hear is the flickering fire that was alive in the fireplace, the smell of toasting bread, and the love in Peeta's eyes. Our perfect moment.

I'm drawn back into the conversation when Caesar speaks. "Were your families there?"

"No, we didn't tell anyone." Peeta smiles with a hint of mischief and defiance. "Not even Haymitch. And Katniss's mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn't be a toasting, and neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it." That's not at all our reason for doing our toasting, but it's the explanation that the Capitol is going to get. "And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us."

That part is true at least.

"So this was before the Quell?" Caesar clarifies.

"Of course it was before the Quell," Peeta says, a sharpness in his tone that wasn't there before. "I'm sure we'd never have done it after we knew," he continues sounding more and more upset, and I know that half of it isn't faked. Half of it is real.

I'm confused, but I really don't have time to think about it much because Peeta continues, his words slowly gathering anger and bitterness. "But who could've seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere—I mean, how could we anticipate something like that?"

"You couldn't, Peeta," Caesar consoles, putting a comforting arm around Peeta. "As you said, no one could've. But I have to confess, I'm glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together."

The applause from the crowd is instant and nearly riotous. Well, I'm glad that they're happy we got a few months of living happily married before we're sent to our deaths. Sometimes, I wonder exactly how much they really love us.

But as I continue to think about the Quell, about going into the arena where Peeta might die, my hormones get the better of me. If anyone asks I'll blame the smoke still rising from my dress, but tears fill my eyes. Belatedly, I realize it adds a nice touch to the scene.

"I'm not glad," Peeta says, surprising everyone, including me.

Caesar is as close to spluttering as he'll ever get. "S-surely even a brief time is better than no time?"

"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," Peeta says bitterly, shocking me with his tone.

But nothing could have prepared me for what he says next . . .

"If it weren't for the baby."

* * *

**BAM! Peeta, you've done it again. (And don't we love him for it!)  
**

**Quote from _Come Rain or Come Shine_ comes from . . . Katniss!  
**

**"I can't do this without you."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Wow! Guys, I've can't express just how much you make my day. Every review brings this really goofy smile to my face that I hope people find endearing instead of strangely creepy. Seriously. You. Guys. Are. Awesome. I really want you guys to know that although I'm not replying to your reviews anymore like I used to (curse the busy college life), I still read and cherish each and every one of them and I cannot express how much it means to me that you took the extra few seconds to click that pesky, little "Review" button.  
**

**So, on that note, we are almost in the arena! Almost, almost, the action is upon us! People will die. I love it when I get to kill people.  
**

**In a literary sense of course. Not in real life. That would be a felony charge that my current record can't take . . .  
**

**Just kidding. I have no record. Squeaky clean, I am. Not even a speeding ticket (though I most definitely deserve one). ;)  
**

**And getting back on track, this chapter is a lot of fun. Lots of sweet, yet sad moments.  
**

**Movie quote of the day comes from _Star Trek_.  
**

**"I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!" - Leonard "Bones" McCoy  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"**

* * *

Chapter 27

Oh. My. God.

Shock cannot accurately describe how I'm feeling. My mind is wondrously blank. I can think no coherent thought. All I can process is overwhelming astonishment and incredulity. I don't even have enough sense to feel betrayed. I'm just . . . frozen.

The audience takes a few heavy seconds of silence to absorb Peeta's statement, and then it's complete and utter chaos. Cries of anguish and wails like dying animals fill the air, so loud that I'm nearly shaking due to the volume. The audience doesn't know what to think, what to do, because Peeta has presented them with a situation that has never been heard of.

I am pregnant.

Even the most bloodthirsty, barbarous, inhumane, Hunger Games-loving, Capitol citizen cannot deny the egregious, horrific situation that I am faced with. Peeta's announcement has sent accusations flying, screaming of cruelty and injustice.

Once again, Peeta has stolen the show. He's dropped a bomb that has exploded and wiped out all the efforts of those before him. Well, perhaps not. Perhaps he only lit the fuse; perhaps the other tributes were merely building the bomb, hoping that my wedding dress would provide the spark. But I rely too much on Cinna's brilliance. Peeta only needs his remarkable wit.

With six words, Peeta has challenged the Capitol and everything they stand for . . . and he did it all without saying a single thing against them. My husband is a genius.

And while my rational mind sees this and understands the sheer brilliance of Peeta's plan and its purpose, my budding maternal instincts are screaming at me to flee from the stage and get as far away from the Capitol as possible. For a split second, I'm just waiting for someone to come take me away from Peeta, right into the clutches of President Snow. The thought holds no logic, but my hormones are anything but logical and right now I want to protect my child in whatever way I can.

Caesar fruitlessly tries to reign in the crowd, but it's hopeless. His lips are moving, but I don't hear any sound other than the chaos of the audience. I don't hear a buzzer sound, signaling the end of the interviews, but Peeta stands anyway and merely gives a nod of acknowledgement before coming back to me. A booming sound echoes through the air, causing me to tremble with the great volume, and I realize that it's the anthem. The great speakers on either side of the stage are shaking with the level of noise they're being forced to produce, but it's necessary because of the uproar of the audience. The blasting anthem is the only cue I have to stand, indicating that the interviews are in fact over.

Peeta walks over to me with tears in his eyes, but I can't focus long enough to see if they're real or not. I feel his warm, strong fingers grasp mine, and I hold his hand tightly. Unthinkingly, I reach over with my other hand and close my fingers around Chaff's stump of an arm.

And then the most wonderful thing happens.

Chaff takes Seeder's hand, which then prompts all the victors up and down the row to do the same. Some join immediately, like Johanna and Finnick, or Wiress and Beetee. Others are more hesitant, like Brutus and Enobaria, but they eventually join because of the demand of the others. For one glorious second, all twenty-four of us stand tall, united as one, and our rebellious image is projected onto every screen in Panem. We, the Victors, showing our disapproval. Our public show of unity among the districts slapping President Snow in the face.

Recognizing our stand as what it is, the televisions immediately cut to black, but that doesn't change the fact that everyone saw. Everyone in Panem, in the Capitol, saw the districts united for one glorious moment. Our rebellion and strength resonating throughout the entire nation, giving the people hope.

The anthem ends and the stage is immediately a mess. Peacekeepers and Capitol employees usher the victors off the stage and hurriedly guide us toward the elevator. I lose hold of Chaff, but Peeta's arm is wrapped around my waist tightly. We're pushed into an elevator, and though the Peacekeeper tries to block their way, Finnick and Johanna manage to slip into our elevator just before the doors close.

"Is it true?" Finnick asks, and I nod, inwardly cursing the tears in my eyes.

My need to escape and my desire to protect my child have faded only slightly. I blame some kind of biological instinct, but I'm just about as close to Peeta as I can get, tucked into his side and subtly angling myself so that he is between me and everyone else in the elevator. They must be able to sense some part of my inner turmoil, because Peeta's arm tightens around me and Finnick and Johanna stay on their side of the elevator, giving me my space.

"Well, congratulations." Finnick gives us both a weak smile before exiting the elevator as the doors open to the fourth floor.

I just manage to glimpse the ocean blue walls of his suite before the doors close and we're shooting upward again. Johanna doesn't say anything. She just stares at me, alternating looks between my still-flat stomach and my face. It would perturb me except for the expression on her face. Oddly curious and sympathetic. Of course, there's anger too, but I've quickly learned that that's just Johanna being Johanna. When the elevator stops for Johanna she says, almost absently as she walks out, "That kid's gonna be a fighter."

Only when the doors close once more do I relax a little. I bury my face in Peeta's chest and relish the feel of both his arms wrapped protectively around me. "Are you mad?" he asks.

I sigh. "I understand why you did it. I really do, and the rational part of me agrees with it."

"But?"

"But on the other hand, I can't help but feel terrified. There's this overwhelming urge to protect the baby, but there's nowhere for me to go." My eyes close and I breathe in the scent of cinnamon that always seems to cling to him. "I'm angry with you and not at the same time."

"They just had to know," Peeta begins to explain his thought process. "They were upset with the Games anyway. They love their victors, and they currently love us the most because we are newer and we gave them our love story to swoon over. I just had to make them see what they've become. They needed to see the injustice. They needed to see the cruelty."

"And you just accused the Capitol without ever saying a word against them," I say. "You just held them accountable. They're to blame for the horror. You did all of that without saying one rebellious thing."

"Hopefully it will really make the Capitol citizens stop and think," Peeta says. "To realize what they've become. It's one thing for the districts to oppose the Capitol. It's another to have the citizens of the Capitol oppose the regime."

Before either of us can say more, the elevator doors open and we find ourselves in an empty suite. Peeta suggests that we change while we wait for everyone to get back, muttering something like, "stupid monkey-suit." I don't comment on his mumbles, but I do take his advice.

The shower feels nice. Well, I figure it would if I could focus on anything other than getting back to Peeta. The events of the night are still messing with my emotions, which are not under firm control at all now that I'm pregnant, and I really do not like the fact that Peeta is not with me. Even if I know that he's simply right across the hall.

Almost as if he sensed my inner turmoil, when I walk out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, Peeta is already sitting on my bed waiting for me. The sight of him prompts the greatest sense of relief, and the swell of emotion brings tears into my eyes. Damn hormones. I don't know how exactly, but I end up in Peeta's lap with my arms wrapped tightly around his neck and my face buried in his shoulder. My tears fall silently. No choked sobs or shaking. I'm just . . . crying. About everything and about nothing.

But Peeta holds me all the same. No questions or even soothing words. He knows me so well. I don't want to hear placating words. They're just an attempt to ignore reality. I don't want to hear that 'it'll be alright' because neither of us has any way of knowing that and right now, the odds aren't in our favor. They never have been. Peeta just holds me, being a wonderful steadying presence. That's all the comfort I need at the moment. I just need to know that he's _there_.

After a few minutes, my tears have dried and I feel remarkably better. Weird. I wordlessly relinquish my hold on Peeta, re-secure my towel under my arms, and begin to rifle through my dresser. The first things I see, I grab. Black, cotton pants and a black tank top. I let my towel drop to the floor, and a knowing smile appears on my face when two large hands help me finish dressing by assisting me with my shirt.

Peeta's fingers are playing with the hem of my shirt, and he gives me a small smile. "Couldn't resist," he says, his fingers abandoning my shirt and grasping my hand. "Let's go wait in the living room."

No one has arrived yet when we step into the main room. A soft babble of noise prompts me to go to the window, and I look down to see tons of blinking lights and scurrying people going every-which-way. It's chaos. "Looks like you have them rattled," I tell Peeta absently, my hand subconsciously moving to my stomach.

"That's an understatement."

Peeta and I spin around to see the elevator doors just closing behind Haymitch. "It's madness out there," he says, a weariness in his tone. "Everyone's been sent home and they've canceled the recap of the interviews on television."

"What are they saying?" Peeta asks. "Are they asking Snow to stop the Games?"

For a brief moment, I entertain the idea of a grand announcement by President Snow, calling off the Games. It would really be something, wouldn't it? Then I'd just have to find a way to evade the assassination team that would surely be sent after me and Peeta. No doubt Snow would send one, especially after foiling his prized Games.

"I don't think they know themselves what to ask," Haymitch says, bringing me back into the conversation. "The whole situation is unprecedented. Even the idea of opposing the Capitol's agenda is a source of confusion for the people here." Haymitch sighs. "But there's no way Snow would cancel the Games. You know that, right?"

Peeta nods, though I see a flash of wistfulness in his eyes. Of course Peeta would have entertained the thought of Snow calling off the Games as well. "He can't back down now," Peeta sighs, glancing out the window to the chaos below. "His only option is to strike back, and strike back hard."

Haymitch nods in agreement and I ask, "The others went home?"

"They were ordered to. I don't know how much luck they're having getting through the mob."

"So we'll never see Effie again," I say, suddenly very sad at the thought. Not just because I won't get to say goodbye, but at the realization that this could very well _be_ goodbye. There's no guarantee that we'll be able to break out of the arena, and there's no guarantee that I'll even survive long enough to give it a chance. "You'll thank her for us, won't you?" I ask. "Tell her that she was the best escort ever."

Haymitch nods and we all stand there in silence, realizing that this could quite possibly be the last time we ever see each other as well. None of us want to voice it. Despite his surliness, his drunkenness, and his sarcasm, Haymitch has wormed his way into my heart. He's family.

"I guess this is where we say our goodbyes as well," Haymitch finally breaks the stalemate, embracing the inevitable.

Peeta gives him a weak smile. "Any last words of advice?"

"Stay alive."

It's almost like an old joke between us, now. Stay alive. The only real advice he can ever give us. Except this time, he's not talking to us as a mentor. He truly wants us to return because in his own, weird way, Haymitch loves us. In some crazy, twisted, and yet truly heartfelt way, we have become his children . . . just as he has become our father.

Haymitch and Peeta share a 'man hug' as Rye once explained to me, a very brief embrace that occasionally involves a pat on the back. Then it's my turn. I'm not letting Haymitch off that easily. I hug him tightly, and I don't let go when he tries to pull away after a second. I don't speak. My throat is far too tight for words. Finally, knowing that this is hurting Haymitch just as much as it is me, I let go after another second or two, but not before I swear I feel Haymitch stroke my hair.

I step back and Peeta takes my hand. My voice still isn't cooperating will me, so Peeta speaks for the both of us. "Take care, Haymitch."

And that's it. Haymitch abruptly turns and walks away, leaving Peeta and I standing in the middle of the room. We stare at our mentor's retreating back until he's out of sight and then Peeta tugs on my hand and leads us to our rooms. We pause in the middle of the hallway, Peeta's door on the right and mine on the left. He smiles half-heartedly at me. "Yours or mine?"

"Ours," I tell him, before leading him into my room, which makes Peeta chuckle nonetheless.

We both fall into bed and lay there silently for the longest time. I content myself with tracing random patterns on his chest with my fingertips for awhile, trying to forget that I'm returning to the arena in less than twenty-four hours. I try to ignore the fact that either Peeta or I could die and be separated forever. The thought that this might very well be the last time I'm able to lie completely safe in his arms hits me like a freight train. And suddenly I'm overcome with the desire to be as close to Peeta as I can be. He knows how much I love him, right? When was the last time I told him? It irks me greatly that I can't remember.

"I love you," I say, breaking the silence. The need to be completely sure that Peeta understands the depth of my love is overwhelming me. He has to know. I can't go into the arena without being sure that he knows how much I love him. He has to know that I need him like I need air to breathe. He needs to know how integral he is to my life, my sanity. He _must_ know.

I lift my head from his chest so I can look him in the eyes. "I love you more than anything. You know that, right?"

Peeta smiles softly. "Yeah, I know," he assures me. "And I love you. More than anything."

"Let's make love," I blurt, causing Peeta to chuckle in amusement at my abruptness. I'm so glad he finds it endearing instead of odd. Otherwise this would be awkward. "This could be our last chance."

Peeta's eyes lose all their amusement as he studies me seriously. "This isn't going to be our last chance," he tells me softly, a determined light in his eyes. "We'll have the rest of our lives—"

"We might not, and you know it," I interrupt him. I really don't know what kind of desperation is welling within me, but I _need_ him. Not just physically, but emotionally. I want to feel that closeness and that overwhelming sense of love that always seems to envelope us. I want to share that with him. I _need_ to share that with him.

"Peeta," I plead quietly, beginning to trail my lips over the skin of his neck. My butterfly kisses end at his ear where I whisper, "Please?"

Peeta gives in with a groan and rolls so that he's hovering over me, immediately claiming my lips as my fingers thread through is hair. You would think that since this may very well be our last chance at being together, our love making would have been desperate and frantic. Wrong. In reality, Peeta and I take it slow. Lingering caresses. Soft sighs. Gentle, yet deep kisses. It reminds me of the night of our toasting. Slow, loving, and tender.

When we finally collapse and fall back onto the bed, I'm feeling wonderfully content. A small smile graces my face as I cuddle closer to Peeta, my head resting on his chest, my arm thrown over his waist. I listen to every beat of his heart, which has yet to return to a normal pace, and sigh when Peeta trails his hand down my back.

"We're good," I say and Peeta chuckles.

"Yes, we are."

We're silent for another moment before Peeta speaks, his voice soft. "We need to go to sleep," he says.

I snort. "I'm surprised you're still awake."

"Hey," Peeta says defensively. "I can't help that."

Both of us share a smile. I kiss him lightly on the lips before returning my head to his chest, and Peeta's arms tighten around me. After a few minutes, I feel myself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, but I can't seem to push myself over the edge and fall asleep. Just when I think that I'll be stuck in this odd limbo for the rest of the night, I feel Peeta's hand settle over my stomach.

And I immediately find sleep.

Hours later, I wake to the sound of Peeta's voice, though my eyes refuse to open and acknowledge the day. Instead, I focus on the rich baritone of Peeta's voice, which sounds soft and gentle and . . . adoring? Finally, my brain wakes up enough to distinguish and process words, and my heart nearly stops.

Peeta is talking to the baby.

My senses begin to work overtime, and I quickly process that I'm lying on my back and that Peeta is not right next to me. I crack my eyes open just enough to see that he's scooted down the bed, and one of his hands is resting on my stomach. He's speaking to our child as if he or she is already here, right in front of him.

". . . and I love you and your mother so much." It occurs to me that I should probably let him know that I'm awake, and I feel slightly guilty about eavesdropping on this very private moment; but, if I make the slightest movement, Peeta will know that I'm awake, and I'll never know all that he said to our child.

So I stay silent and still, listening to what Peeta has to say.

"You and your mother are the two most important people in my world," Peeta whispers with a small smile. "And I'm not going to let anything happen to you, I promise. Daddy's going to keep you safe."

Tears spring into my eyes, and I squeeze them shut to keep them from falling. Still, I feel a single tear escape, but soft lips kiss it away and my eyes immediately open, my arms already reaching for him. "How did you know?" I ask as Peeta wraps me in his arms.

"Your breathing sped up," he says as kisses my hair. "Don't worry, you didn't hear anything I wouldn't have said whether you were awake or not. Nothing is going to happen to you. I won't let it. I can't lose either of you."

His words prompt more tears, but I'm able to fight them back. I'm about to go into the arena. That's no place to show weakness. "Peeta—"

"Listen to me, Katniss," Peeta cuts me off softly. "When we're in the arena, don't go to the Cornucopia." I open my mouth to argue, but Peeta interrupts me. "Don't," he tells me seriously. "You know it's not your game so don't try to play it. You've got to get out of there quick, just like last year. I'll find you. Don't wait for me. Find Finnick or Johanna and stick with them, okay?"

I want to argue, I really do. I want to snap at him that just because I'm pregnant does not mean that I'm made of glass. Pride is really a nuisance at times. But this isn't a simple case of me being pregnant and hunting in the woods. I'm about to go into the arena, where people will try to kill me and won't pause just because I'm pregnant. It won't matter. As much as my pride recoils, I relent. Peeta's right.

"Okay," I agree.

The relief in Peeta's eyes is plain to see, and I'm reminded that this is just as hard for Peeta as it is for me. "Good," he sighs, holding me closer. For a minute we simply lie in bed and hold each other. I'm listening to every beat of his heart, praying that it never stops. Gently, Peeta rolls me onto my back and then begins to kiss me. It's one of the sweetest kisses we've ever shared, full of love and promise. The way Peeta holds me has a protective edge, and I wonder if he realizes that in this position, there's no way for anyone to get to me without having to go through him first.

We break away, and Peeta rests his forehead against mine. "We should get dressed," he says eventually. "It's almost dawn."

It's with great reluctance that we get out of bed and begin searching for our clothes. Peeta doesn't have much to hunt for, just his pants. I, on the other hand, have a few more clothes to find, and Peeta's habit of flinging them in random directions does not help. After a few minutes of searching, I've managed to find and dress myself in all my articles of clothing but one.

"Where's my shirt?" I ask exasperated, looking at him. "This is your fault."

Peeta shrugs sheepishly. "I wasn't really thinking about where it landed. All that mattered was that you weren't wearing it."

Despite everything, I still manage to blush.

Suddenly, the door opens, and both Peeta and I spin to face the intruder, only to find Cinna. However, curiously, he's not staring at us. "Katniss, why is your shirt hanging from the ceiling fan?" he asks mildly, doing a brilliant job of hiding his amusement.

"Peeta," I growl in embarrassment. "You mind getting that for me?"

Peeta's blushing too, but he also appears to be trying to hold back laughter. "Sure." The ceilings are only eight feet high, so all Peeta has to do is reach up and snag the shirt. He places it in my hand as he kisses my forehead. My eyes close involuntarily at the sweet, gentle gesture as he whispers, "See you soon."

When I open my eyes he's gone.

* * *

**Yeah, I know, another cliffy. Sorry, but they're every writer's bread and butter. They're so deliciously tempting.**

**And we finally got to read the "Katniss, why is your shirt hanging from the ceiling fan?" line. It's one of my favorites, and I've been getting questions throughout the story about when the line was going to pop up . . . so . . . question answered. :)  
**

**Peeta, yet again, proved his awesomeness this chapter. Just when we think he can't possibly make us love him more . . .  
**

**It's really too bad he's a fictional character. Let us all pause to lament this fact . . .  
**

**Okay! So, the arena is drawing near! Next chapter in fact, so get ready for some long-awaited, much-needed action! Woo!  
**

**And the quote from _Come Rain or Come Shine_, my version of _Mockingjay_ comes from . . . (drum roll please) . . . RYE!  
**

**"Driven? Seriously? Look, I may not know people like my little brother does, but even I can see that she's too cold. She's just like the president but with a lot less flair . . . probably because of that stick that's so far up her ass."  
**

**Yep, Rye lives everybody. There's your first little spoiler. ;)  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Oh, my goodness! We have surpassed 1300! You. Guys. Are. SO. Epic.  
**

**Thank you so, so, very much for all the lovely reviews! Thank you, thank you!  
**

**Okay, so this chapter begins the time spent in the arena! Yay! Action, action, action . . . complete with Peeta kicking ass . . .  
**

**Yeah, it's pretty awesome.  
**

**The movie quote of the day comes from _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_.  
**

**"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." - Dumbledore  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."**

* * *

Chapter 28

Waiting in the Launch Room is just as torturous the second time around. Cinna and I sit on the couch like last year, clutching each other's hands. I try to ignore how cold my hands feel against Cinna's warm skin. Fear is gliding icily through my veins, freezing me. If I thought I was scared last year, it is nothing compared to the sheer, paralyzing terror that is gripping me this year.

The hand that is not grasping Cinna's rests over my stomach, which is still as flat as it has ever been. I vaguely remember my mother mentioning once that mothers in their first pregnancy don't show as soon as other mothers who've already been pregnant before. At this thought, I subtly slide my hand over my stomach. No bump. No sign of pregnancy, of the child growing inside me. My stomach is still as flat as it was two seconds ago.

If Cinna notices my movements, he doesn't comment. We don't speak. Trying to make my mind focus on anything other than the fact that at any second a pleasant voice will sound over the intercom and tell me to prepare for launch, I think of Peeta. The first thought to enter my mind is how he was speaking to the baby this morning. I'll always remember every word he said, but there is one phrase that I'll always recall first. The very last thing he said. _Daddy's going to keep you safe._

Daddy. Peeta is going to be a father. It's funny, I've really only been focusing on the fact that I'm going to be a mother. The thought that Peeta will be a father causes my lips to twitch upward in a ghost of a smile. I've always held the belief that Peeta would be the best father in the world, just as good a dad as my own . . . kind, supportive, loving . . . and fiercely protective.

_Daddy's going to keep you safe._

I don't doubt him.

My mind then focuses on Peeta's goodbye. How I wish I hadn't closed my eyes . . . but then I would have had to watch him walk away from me. Maybe I got the lesser of two evils.

After I'd opened my eyes to find Peeta gone, Cinna had reminded me about the shirt still clutched in my hand. Almost in a daze, I'd pulled it over my head and then together Cinna and I had made our way onto the roof. Exactly like the year before, a hovercraft appeared and dropped down a ladder. The moment I'd grabbed a rung, I was frozen with an electric current and hauled up. The very same woman from before implanted the tracker into my arm. Eating breakfast was a trial due to my nausea, but I managed, telling myself that it was good for the baby.

My launch room this year looks nearly exactly like the last one I'd seen. Four square, white walls. The couch I'm currently sitting on is blood red, a color that I doubt is by chance. A stainless steel table where my outfit for this year's games sat. Whereas last year I got a shirt and pants and boots, this year I get a red and blue fitted jumpsuit made of a sheer fabric. A large, six-inch wide purple belt is wrapped around my waist. This is my favorite part of my outfit because it partially shields my stomach. A pair of nylon shoes with rubber soles covers my feet.

Cinna couldn't really tell much of the possible conditions in the arena due to the outfit, only saying that there might be some bright sun.

My mockingjay pin is fixed on my jumpsuit, glinting even in the fluorescent lights of the room. Strange how it's become this symbol for the rebellion, a songbird that merely reminded me of my father. But that's simply what the mockingjay means to me. To the rest of Panem, it's a symbol of hope. It's mindboggling really, that the bird on my pin has soared to such great heights.

"Please prepare to launch."

The pleasant female voice cuts through all my thoughts, and I'm slapped in the face with the present. I'm about to enter the arena. Still clutching each other's hands, Cinna and I walk to the pedestal that will raise me up into the arena. It's with great reluctance that I let go of his hand.

"Remember, girl on fire," he says. "I'm still betting on you."

Cinna kisses my forehead and then takes a step back. The glass tube slides down around me, separating me from him, and I can't help but think of last night. The interviews, when Cinna turned me into a mockingjay, trading the silk of my wedding dress for my mockingjay plumage. It was the bravest, stupidest thing he could have ever done, and I haven't said a word to him about it. But somehow, I don't get the feeling that I need to. Cinna said everything he needed to say when he caught my eyes on stage. He knew exactly what he was doing and he doesn't regret it.

I wait for the pedestal to begin to rise. Last year, the moment the glass trapped me, it began to lift me up, but I have yet to move an inch. My eyes meet Cinna's and I see my own confusion reflected right back at me. Why is there a delay? What's the cause?

Just then, the door bursts open and three burly Peacekeepers barrel in. Immediately, two of them grab Cinna by the arms and handcuff him while the third, wearing metal-studded gloves, punches Cinna with such force as to knock him to his knees. A startled cry escapes my lips that quickly morphs into a scream as I'm forced to watch the three Peacekeepers beat a defenseless Cinna. Their cruel, studded gloves open up several nasty gashes on his face and blood is beginning to drip steadily onto the collar of Cinna's black shirt. I'm pounding on the glass, screaming my head off, but either they don't hear me or they don't care.

Finally, mercifully, Cinna is knocked unconscious and I watch helplessly as they drag his limp body out the door, a long, horrifying blood smear trailing along the floor in his wake. The door slams shut and suddenly my pedestal is working again, beginning to lift me up into the arena.

I'm not ready. I'm not ready at all. I'm shaken, literally trembling on my pedestal. I close my eyes and force myself to take a deep breath, desperately ignoring the image of a bloody Cinna that appears behind my closed lids. Focus. Focus. I can't be shown trembling once I'm in the arena. I can't give Snow that satisfaction. This was all a ploy to rattle me. Well, consider me rattled. But I refuse to show it. I will be strong, not only for me, but for the people of Panem watching me. Hopefully, if they can see my strength, they will in turn find their own.

A breeze hits me in the face and a bright sun blinds me. I blink rapidly to focus my vision, but the light seems to be refracting off everything around me. Something laps at my pedestal and I squint at my feet. Blue waves.

Slowly, my eyes lift from my feet to stare out around me. All I see is water, lapping gently with the breeze. Everywhere is water.

This is no place for a girl on fire.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The booming voice of Claudius Templesmith echoes throughout the arena. "Let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

One minute. I have one minute to study everything around me before the gong sounds and I get the hell out of here. But once I examine my situation, I realize that that's going to be a problem. Directly in front of me is the golden, horn-shaped structure of the Cornucopia, reflecting brightly in the sun. It sits on a little circular island about forty yards away from me. I try to get my bearings. Pink sky. Hot sun. Water everywhere.

But then I look closer and I realize that the Cornucopia doesn't sit on an island. Several narrow strips of land stretch out from the circle, mimicking the look of spokes on a wheel. At this thought, my gaze becomes even sharper and I realize that between each spoke are two tributes. Next to me is Woof, an old man from 8 who's hard of hearing. That's it, then. There are twelve spokes, each equidistant apart.

I glance around quickly, trying to find Peeta, but I can't see him. He must be on the other side of the Cornucopia. I'm so glad I taught him how to swim during the summer; otherwise he would be trapped on his pedestal once the gong sounds. My eyes search for any sign of my allies. I can't see Beetee or Wiress or Johanna, but I think that I see Finnick's tall, athletic form about three spokes over.

I can hear Peeta in my head, his words from this morning. I'm supposed to avoid the Cornucopia and get somewhere safe, away from the bloodbath. My next task is to find either Finnick or Johanna if Peeta doesn't find me first. But there's a gapping flaw in Peeta's plan. No one could have anticipated an arena quite like this one. It might be the endlessness of the water, but this arena seems expansive to me, bigger than last year's. The spokes that emanate from the island of the Cornucopia stretch all the way to a narrow beach and beyond that, dense greenery. It's everywhere you look.

No one could find me in there. Peeta couldn't, especially since he can't see me like he could last year. Last year he was able to see in which direction I ran. This year he can't. He'd have no clue as to where to start looking for me.

It's this that makes me realize I have to swim to the Cornucopia. It's the only way Peeta and I will be able to stay together. Determination fills me, and I quickly dip my hand into the water lapping at my pedestal before touching a fingertip to my tongue. Salt water, like in District 4.

When the gong sounds, I don't hesitate to dive into the water. Swimming in the waves is much different than the calm water of the lake back home, but adrenaline aids me in the extra effort. I reach the sandy spoke to my left, pulling myself out of the water gracelessly, before sprinting down the narrow strip of land to the Cornucopia.

My eyes dart all around me, but no one is in sight. I reach the Cornucopia and begin to hunt for my weapon. The Gamemakers wouldn't deny my bow and arrows that I'm famous for. Unlike last year, when the supplies were spread out around the Cornucopia, this year they're all piled up together. I see a glint of gold and my hands reach for it. A bow and sheath of arrows.

As I'm slinging the quiver over my shoulder, I sense someone behind me. Hunter instincts are lifesaving. In one fluid motion, I spin around and load an arrow in my bow, taking aim. Just as I'm about to release the string, I realize who I'm aiming at. Finnick, glistening wet in the bright sun, stands a few yards away from me poised to attack as well, his trident raised. A net dangles from his other hand. Though he's smiling at me, he's tensed for an attack.

I lower my bow, and Finnick relaxes slightly. "Oh, yay! You didn't try to kill me. That would have really put a strain on our friendship."

"Reflex," I explain myself, and Finnick nods in understanding.

"We need to get you out of here," he says.

I shake my head. "Not without Peeta," I tell him, my tone offering no room for argument.

Finnick looks like he wants to argue, but suddenly his face morphs into an expression that I've never seen. "Duck!" he commands with such authority that I don't bother to question him.

His trident sails over my head and then there's the sickening sound of impact as it embeds itself into a human torso. I whirl around just in time to see the male tribute from District 5, the drunk, draw his last breath. Finnick is immediately at my side, retrieving his trident. He looks at me fiercely and I don't see the playful Finnick Odair I'm used to seeing, I see the Finnick Odair who won the Hunger Games.

"Fine," he says, referring to my demand that we wait for Peeta. "Each of us takes a side, and for heaven's sake don't die."

I give him a curt nod and dart to my left as Finnick moves to the right. My ears pick up the sounds of a fight, and I'm already lifting my bow, preparing to fire. Just as I round the horn of the Cornucopia, I'm met with a sight that I naively never expected to see.

Peeta and Gloss are locked in a fierce battle. Both grasp deadly daggers in their hands as they dance around each other, parrying attacks and dodging lunges meant to skewer. I've never seen Peeta fight before, not really. There was his struggle with Cato atop the Cornucopia during our first Games, but his current fight with Gloss makes his deadly dance with Cato on the rim of the Corncuopia look like a scuffle. Aside from that fight, I've only ever seen recaps of his previous fights from the Games, and somehow that made it seem less real. There's no doubting the reality of what I'm seeing now. Peeta's actually . . . deadly. His moves are fast and precise and show a strategy.

Suddenly, Gloss lunges at Peeta, making a sweeping motion with his dagger. Peeta jumps back to avoid the swipe, but loses his footing on the shifty sand. Though he's off balanced for only a second, Gloss capitalizes and tackles Peeta to the ground, planting his knees on Peeta's chest. Gloss's dagger descends rapidly to meet Peeta's heart, but Peeta is able to grab his wrists and stop the dagger's deadly descent.

Finally able to overcome the shock of what I'm seeing, Peeta's predicament causes me to act. I raise my bow and aim right between Gloss's eyes. However, before I release the string, Peeta, in a great show of strength, flips Gloss over his head, causing the Career to drop his dagger in the sand.

I take aim again, but a movement out of the corner of my eye makes me pause. My eyes immediately zone in on Enobaria, who is sneakily making her way onto shore, her bloodlust-crazed eyes not leaving Peeta. He's her target.

And she has just become mine. I switch my aim from Gloss to Enobaria, and I release my arrow the moment Enobaria is within range. Regrettably, it appears that she had been keeping a peripheral eye on me and just manages to duck at the last second, my arrow that was meant to land between her eyes sailing over her head into the water. She ducks behind the Cornucopia out of my sight and I quickly load another arrow as I refocus my attention to Peeta.

In the three seconds I took my eye off him to shoot at Enobaria, both he and Gloss have rearmed themselves and are fighting like wolves. I raise my bow to shoot Gloss, but he and Peeta are too close together and moving far too fast for me to be positive that if I released an arrow it would hit Gloss and not Peeta.

I stand, helplessly waiting for a clear shot. Gloss lunges at Peeta once again, but Peeta appears to be ready for the charge, sidestepping out of the way and catching Gloss's arm, twisting it oddly. There's a sickening pop as Gloss's shoulder is dislocated and he howls in pain. But Gloss isn't a Career for nothing. Despite the pain, he whirls around to face Peeta once more, but, again, Peeta appears to have expected it. I watch, stunned, as Peeta raises one arm to block Gloss's strike, and then sinks his dagger into Gloss's abdomen.

Peeta appears slightly stunned too. As he falls to his knees, Gloss's quivering hands flutter to his wound, grasping the handle of the dagger, before looking back up at Peeta, seemingly mystified by his predicament. Comprehension dawns on Gloss's face as he finally overcomes the shock of his encroaching death, and with his last breath he looks up at Peeta and coughs, whatever words he meant to speak choked with blood. The tribute from District 1 falls heavily to his side and remains motionless.

As if pulling himself out of a stupor, Peeta shakes his head, and quickly looks around to ascertain if there are any threats. There's no one here but me. I assume that not many victors know how to swim and most are still trapped on their pedestals. There was no pool in the Training Center, so there was no chance for anyone to learn. Now, it's either learn quickly or die trying.

I blink and suddenly Peeta is right in front of me, looking none too thrilled to see me. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hisses as he looks me over to make sure I'm unharmed. All I can focus on is the blood dripping from his temple and the long, diagonal cut on that starts on his collarbone and ends just shy of his heart. "I told you to run _away_ from the Cornucopia!"

"Since when do I ever do what you say?" I retort, before impulsively giving him a brief, but passionate kiss. "Glad you're still alive, though."

Peeta's eyes hold a haunted, guilty look for a moment before it vanishes. No doubt thinking of how he killed Gloss not a minute ago. "Get some weapons and let's go," he says, his eyes darting around. "We need to get out of here."

Both of us turn toward the supplies, and it doesn't take me too long to realize that all of it is weapons. Knives, swords, maces, axes, everything is metal and deadly. No water. No blankets. No medicine. No backpacks.

Peeta grabs two long knives, dropping his bloody dagger in the sand, abandoning it. I don't comment. I grab another bow and sheath of arrows and an awl, along with two knives identical to Peeta's and slide them into my belt.

We rush to the point of the Cornucopia and meet up with Finnick, who holds two tridents in one hand and a net in the other, a knife stuck in his belt. He grins at Peeta. "Hey, Peet! You really need to have a talk with the missus. She seems to like trying to get killed."

"Shut up," I tell them both, cutting off whatever Peeta was about to say.

"Uh oh, take care of that, would you?" Finnick asks, and I see Brutus charging toward us, his belt held in his hands in front of him, acting as some sort of shield.

I let an arrow fly, but Brutus manages to block it with his belt. Purple liquid spews from the belt were my arrow punctured it, covering Brutus's face, and he dives back into the safety of the water before I can get another shot off. Peeta is already grabbing my arm and leading me away, following Finnick.

It really is time to get out of here. Brutus is probably already out of the water, and our altercation has no doubt given Enobaria time to load up on weapons. Cashmere must be lurking around here, too. I wonder if she realizes her brother is dead yet. If it weren't for the baby, I would be willing to take them on with Peeta and Finnick, but I can't risk that. I've already risked my safety enough.

But we don't immediately head for the dense greenery that surrounds us. Finnick is turning his head this way and that and then suddenly he smiles and runs forward. Peeta and I follow and I see Mags standing on her pedestal. Her eyes land on Finnick and she doesn't hesitate to jump into the water. Even though she's eighty, living in District 4 all her life must have given her the ability to stay afloat no matter her age. Her grey head bobs in the water, and Finnick scoops her out of the water as if she weighs nothing.

"Can't leave Mags behind," Finnick says. "She's one of the few people who like me."

"I've got no problem with Mags," I reply, offering her a small smile. "You're fishhooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal."

Mags gives me a quirky smile, but then pats her belt and says, "bob."

"Look, she's right," Finnick says, pointing to someone in the water. It's Beetee, who is flailing around, but managing to keep his head above the water. "Someone figured it out."

"The belts are flotation devices," Peeta nods in understanding. "You'll have to propel yourself, but they'll keep you from drowning."

"Come on, let's get out of here," Finnick says as he throws his net over his shoulder and then hoists Mags on top of it.

I want to wait for Beetee and Wiress, but Beetee is three spokes over and I can't even see Wiress. We don't have time to wait or look for them. We've got to get away from the Cornucopia. More and more tributes are managing to get ashore. It's time to vamoose.

Finnick takes off running, gripping his two tridents in his hand. Peeta and I run after him until we've reached the dense woods. But these are unlike any woods I've ever seen. They are far too dense and too green. _Jungle_. I determine, remembering a description from my father.

Most of the trees are unfamiliar to me. Rubbery trunks and green, frond-like leaves. Tangles of vines litter the trees and the floor, which is black soil. Colorful blossoms sprout from the vines and the dense undergrowth, but I can hardly pay attention to that. The sun, bright and white hot, is blocked by the density of the jungle, but that doesn't mean we're brought relief from the shade. No, the air is so thick with moisture that the humidity makes it feel even hotter. Sweat has already begun to cling to the back of my neck, and memories of fighting dehydration in the arena last year flit through my mind. I swallow convulsively. We have to find water soon.

Peeta leaves my side to take the lead, slashing a path with one of his knives. I know that he's upset with me, which probably prompted his need to slash at something to vent his frustration. He must realize that me meeting him at the Cornucopia was the only way to stay together. I don't have to tell him this or explain myself. However, that doesn't mean that Peeta has to like the fact I had to face the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. I know that he's is probably more upset with the world instead of me. All he's trying to do is protect me, but the world seems to spite his efforts.

Personally, I keep thinking about Peeta's fight with Gloss. It was so brutal, and Peeta fought just as well as any Career, his wrestling and all our training we did before the Games serving him well. It was just odd, seeing Peeta transform into such a fierce being. The hands that caressed and loved me so gently last night just violently killed someone. The contrast is shocking, but I can't help but think that Peeta just showed his true strength. Strength isn't all about power; it's about knowing when to use it and how to control it.

I smile a little at my realization. Just another thing about Peeta to love and respect. We continue to trudge through the jungle, the ground beneath our feet slowly growing steeper. It doesn't take us long to become short of breath. Much to my disgruntlement, I'm the first to begin to pant. Despite my extra training, I'm pregnant. Much to my annoyance, this causes me to tire quicker than normal. However, it doesn't take long before Peeta and Finnick are breathing just as hard as I am. Peeta, despite his strength and physique, is exerting more effort than the rest of us cutting a path through the foliage and is tiring. I also think he tweaked his shoulder fighting with Gloss, but I don't exactly know how I know this. I put it up to the fact that I know Peeta's body just as well as I know my own. Finnick is tiring too, but he's in such great shape that even with Mags on his back he keeps up with us easily. We all manage to climb rapidly for about a mile before Finnick asks that we stop for a rest. Even if I have a sneaking suspicion that his request is more for Mags than himself, I'm grateful and plop down on the ground, resting against a tree.

Peeta sits down beside me and I lay my head on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asks.

"I'm fine," I answer immediately. "Just a little tired."

We're all silent for a few minutes, catching our breath. Finnick and Mags are sitting at the base of a tree across from us, and Mags begins to mumble to Finnick who nods, understanding every word she's saying. While they're distracted by their conversation, I turn slightly so that I'm facing Peeta.

Our eyes meet, and Peeta sighs. "Sorry for yelling at you," he apologizes. "It just scared me, seeing you there."

I wonder if he means that he was scared that I was at the Cornucopia or that I'd just seen him kill someone. Something tells me it's both. "It's alright," I say, trying to assuage his guilt. But the heaviness in his eyes only lessens slightly and it prompts me to put my lips at his ear, so that no microphone can hear me. "You're still Peeta," I tell him softly, repeating what I'd told him last year after he'd killed the boy from 4. "You'll always be Peeta, and I don't think any less of you after what I saw today."

I pull back and Peeta offers me a small, appreciative smile. His lips meet mine softly. "Thank you," he whispers.

I twine my fingers with his, and rest my head against his shoulder once more. Though I allow myself to close my eyes, my ears stay sharp, listening to everything around me. Peeta's slow breaths. The soft conversation between Mags and Finnick. A slight breeze rustling the foliage. A multitude of animal sounds that I don't recognize, but don't see as a threat . . . yet. We'll have to be extra careful in this arena. I have a feeling we'll encounter things we've never seen.

"Someone should see how it's like at the Cornucopia," Finnick says, prompting me to open my eyes.

I get to my feet. I'm the one known for climbing trees. However, there's a little problem. These trees aren't the ones I'm used to and there's no branch that's easily within my reach. "Peeta, can you give me a boost?" I ask, and Peeta gives me his signature boyish grin.

"Of course," he offers gallantly.

He folds his hands and I place a hand on his shoulder to steady myself before I place my foot on his braced hands. "Ready?" Peeta asks, and I nod.

I push off his hands just as he tosses me up. The motion is so smooth it's like we've been doing it for years. My hands easily grip a branch and I'm able to pull myself up. Then I begin to climb. Eventually, my head pops up from the tree line and I'm able to see everything. A soft breeze it's my face, refreshing me. But the nice, cooling breeze is all but forgotten when my eyes alight on the Cornucopia.

I'm too far away to see anything distinct, but the color red stains the ground. Blue bodies lie motionlessly on the ground, but I can't tell who they are. Spots of purple stain the sea, where some bodies float lifelessly. I'm able to tell that some figures are still in battle, but again, I have no idea who.

I know that I shouldn't be surprised by the sight before me, but I can't help but think of our joined hands last night during the interview. Our show of unity. These people, these people were _friends_, and yet they still went into massacre-mode the moment the gong rang. I suppose I should have expected it. We're all victors for a reason.

But I guess I had been subconsciously, naively hoping for some show of restraint, or at least reluctance. The bloodstained Cornucopia proves my hopes to be folly. My eyes begin to itch with the urge to produce tears, but I fight them back. The last thing I need is my hormones to act up and make me weepy.

I climb down from the tree, and Peeta is waiting for me. When I reach the last branch, I dangle from it before letting myself drop. Peeta catches me effortlessly and then sets me on my feet. Finnick meets my gaze, and it's like he knows what I've been thinking. "So, how does it look down there, Katniss?" he asks. "Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?"

I fight not to scowl. "No."

"No," Finnick repeats. "Because whatever happened in the past is in the past, and no one in this arena was a victor by chance."

I nod curtly, my lips pursed in a thin line. "I know."

"How many are dead?" Peeta asks, and I sigh, my aggravation with Finnick fading.

"Hard to say. At least six, I think. But they're still fighting," I answer.

"Let's keep moving." Peeta draws one of his knives from his belt. "We need water."

At the reminder, I can't help but swallow. All this time, we still haven't seen a drop of the precious liquid. No stream. No pond. No nothing. The water from the sea isn't drinkable, which means that there must be freshwater _somewhere_. We simply have to find it, and both Peeta and I know how difficult the Gamemakers can make that task.

"Better find some soon," Finnick says seriously. "We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight."

We resume our trek, our pace slightly slower, but by no means are we dragging our feet. The ground continues to rise relentlessly, only increasing our level of exertion, but we all continue to climb. I keep my eyes peeled for any signs of water, but there are none. We go another mile and we're all panting once again. I see the crest of the hill above us, and think that maybe we'll have better luck on the other side.

However, I realize that there is no other side. Despite trailing behind the others, picking up the rear, I know that the arena ends before anyone else. My eyes catch sight of an undulating square in the air, rippling like a pane of glass. Immediately, I think of the first day in the Training Center with Wiress and Beetee. A chink in the armor—the armor of the force field.

My mouth opens to shout a warning to Peeta, but I'm too late. His knife swings downward and hits the force field. _Zap_. For a moment, I can see beyond the arena, even if all it is a barren stretch of earth . . . and then Peeta is flung backward, knocking over Finnick and Mags.

He hits the ground with a thud and remains motionless.

"Peeta!"

I drop to my knees beside him, faintly noting the aroma of singed hair. My hands are trembling as I press my fingers to his lips. No warmth breath. He isn't breathing. Peeta isn't breathing. My husband isn't breathing. The father of my child isn't breathing.

Am I breathing? No, I'm gasping. I curse the tears that well in my eyes, the sob that threatens to escape me.

I shake his shoulder. "Peeta!" I scream, but he remains entirely too still.

As a last hope, I press my ear to his chest, the very same spot where I always rest my head at night. The very same spot where I fell asleep last night, contented and safe. I close my eyes, tears sliding down my cheeks, praying to hear the strong heartbeat that I love.

Silence.

* * *

**It may be cruel of me, but I love that last bit.**

**Let's see, let's see . . . things don't look good for Cinna (sorry folks), Finnick is as gorgeous and witty as ever, Katniss is thirsty, and Peeta is dead.  
**

**Yep, I think that about covers it.  
**

**So! Quote from _Come Rain or Come Shine_ comes from . . . Prim!  
**

**" . . . even if they break his body, they'll never be able to break his spirit."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Wow, guys! Once again (I know, I sound like a broken record) thank you so much for the reviews! I love you guys! New readers, and those I just wrangled in yesterday (you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into), I can't help but thank you . . . again . . . and again . . . and yet again . . .  
**

**I think you get my point. :)  
**

**So! This is the beginning of a very stressful, busy week that every college kid dreads: Finals Week.  
**

**Yes, pity me.  
**

**BUT . . . if I make it through this week I'm done and Christmas Break begins! Woo!  
**

**Movie quote of the day comes from _Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows_.  
**

**"I should have brought you a sedative." - Dr. Watson  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."**

* * *

Chapter 29

Denial. Anger. Despair. Horror.

I feel them all at once, such a riotous concoction. Vaguely, I'm aware that I'm shaking Peeta and yelling at him, desperately wishing that he'd answer me. He remains silent. He remains silent because he's dead. There is no breath in his lungs, no rhythm in his heart.

Peeta is dead.

And I don't know what to do. I don't know of anything to do other than cry and scream at Peeta for leaving me. Evil, sharp claws are digging into my heart, twisting painfully. I gasp. The pain I'm feeling now is nothing compared to what I felt last year when I thought he was dead. That pain seems feeble compared to the sheer agony that has me wrapped in its clutches. Last year, I didn't know what I had lost. This year, I know exactly what I've lost. I've lost my best friend, my partner, my husband, the father of my child.

I simply cannot fathom the stark truth slowly suffocating me.

Peeta is dead.

I'll never again see him smile; never again hear his laugh. His blue eyes, now sightless and hollow, will never twinkle with love or kindness or mischief. Strong arms now limp will never again be able to shield me from the cruel world I live in. Has it only been a day since our last night together? Was it only this morning that we lay in bed in each others arms? I stare at Peeta's still form. It can't be true.

Peeta is dead.

I open my mouth to scream at him for leaving me, for leaving _us_, when I'm suddenly shoved out of the way. Finnick appears in my tear-blurred vision and just as I'm about to lunge at him and push him away from Peeta, he does something that stops me in my tracks. He presses his mouth to Peeta's.

And I watch, almost mesmerized, as Peeta's chest rises in response.

Slowly, very slowly, my brain begins to fight against the hysteria and grief, and I realize what Finnick is doing. It's something that Prim taught me for the Games. Resuscitation. Finnick has pinched Peeta's nostrils closed as he breathes air into Peeta's lungs. He unzips the top of Peeta's jumpsuit and then begins doing compressions using the heels of his hands, forcing Peeta's heart to pump blood. I watch, dazed, as Finnick continues these motions. I note the familiarity with which Finnick is operating, making me think that he has done this more than once. Personally, I've only seen my mother use this technique a handful of times. When someone's heart stops beating in 12, there's no time to take him or her to my mother.

I drop to my knees beside Peeta once more, though I make sure to give Finnick space to work. The next few minutes are agonizing as I watch Finnick try to bring Peeta back to life. For something to do, I take Peeta's hand, so large and strong compared to mine, and clutch it tightly. When I begin to talk to him, I'm not screaming like I was before. My voice is barely above a whisper. I plead with him to come back; I _beg_ him to come back. I remind him how he promised to never leave me. I remind him how I can't survive without him. I remind him about the baby and how he'll never get the chance to know his son or daughter if he doesn't wake up.

"Please, Peeta," I beg, tears sliding down my cheeks. "Please."

And then the most glorious thing happens.

Simultaneously, Peeta squeezes my hand and coughs. "Only because you said please," he says in a raspy voice, and I nearly collapse in relief.

But my relief is soon overwhelmed with joy. I start to laugh, though I'm still crying. Finnick moves out of the way, rocking back on his heels, breathing heavily from the exertion it took to bring Peeta back to me. I'll thank him later. Right now, all that matters is that I'm staring into my favorite pair of blue eyes that are alight with life once more.

"You idiot!" I berate him, choking on my tears as I bury my face into the crook of his neck. Another round of sobs chokes me as I feel his arms wrap around me. "Watch where you're going!"

"Yeah, there's a force field up ahead," Peeta replies tiredly. "I'd recommend you avoid it."

I nod, but I'm still sobbing, though not as hysterically as I was before. "It's okay, Katniss," Peeta begins to console me, which only makes my sobs worse. He was dead and he's the one consoling me. Insanity. "I'm fine. I'm here." I still cry. "Katniss?"

"It's okay," Finnick says to Peeta. "It's just her hormones. From the baby."

Hormones. Damn hormones making me . . . hormonal. Ugh, I can't even think coherently. Damn it, Damn it, Damn it. Focus. No crying. Peeta's alive. Things are okay. Things are going to be fine. Peeta's alive. He's breathing. His heart is beating. He's alive and with me. I'm okay.

My tears begin to abate, and I realize what a mess I must be. My nose is running like crazy and Mags hands me a fistful of moss. It's wonderful, absorbent and soft. I wipe my face and blow my nose and am beginning to feel much better. Finnick is eyeing me warily, as if expecting me to burst into hysterical sobs again.

"I'm done crying," I snap at him. "Stop staring at me like that."

Finnick merely raises his eyebrows, looking oddly amused considering that I'm giving him my best death glare. He looks at Peeta. "How do you deal with those hormones? Her mood swings are crazy."

Peeta grins tiredly. "Patience."

I turn my glare on Peeta, but it falls almost immediately. I can't glare at him. Honestly, I feel the urge to kiss him until I can't possibly go another second without breathing, but I restrain myself because Peeta needs all the breath he can get right now. He's only came back from the dead five minutes ago. I need to make sure his lungs are in working order.

I gently sweep away his damp curls that have fallen into his eyes. "How are you?" I realize that it's a stupid question. He died! But as much as I hate to admit it, we need to keep moving. "Do you think you can move on?"

"We could make camp here," Finnick says, but Peeta shakes his head.

"I don't think that's an option," he argues. "Staying here with no water, no protection. I feel alright, really. If we could just go slowly."

Finnick nods. "Slowly would be better than not at all."

He helps Peeta to his feet, and Peeta sways for a moment before getting his bearings and standing straighter. He's lying through his teeth when he says that he's alright, but I don't call him on it. He'd just deny it anyway.

I've pulled myself together, and to be honest it was the hardest thing I've had to do all day. Since I woke up this morning, I've seen Cinna beaten unconscious, I've been thrown into another arena, and I've seen Peeta die. Even if I didn't have pregnancy hormones to make me overwhelmed, I still think I would have still been rather hysterical. But I have to keep myself from falling apart because all I've done today is been weepy and weak. To sponsors, I doubt it looks as though I'm handling things well. I've got to suck it up. I check over my weapons to make it seem as though I'm in control.

"I'll take the lead," I say. Of course, Peeta immediately begins to object, but Finnick cuts him off.

"No, let her do it," he tells Peeta before looking at me with a frown. "You knew that force field was there, didn't you? Right at the last second? You started to give a warning." He studies me. "How did you know?"

How did I know? I knew because Wiress and Beetee had told me. But can I tell Finnick this? And essentially Panem and the Gamemakers? I immediately realize that I can't. I can't let the Gamemakers know that I know about the chink in their armor, the fuzzy patches in the force field. They could try to cover them up. I'm also very aware of the conclusion that I drew from Beetee's words. A chink in the armor. I have a hunch that these chinks are part of Beetee's plan to break us out of here. Momentarily, I'm frustrated with Haymitch, who refused to give us all the details of the plan. Instead, we only know just enough so as we're not completely clueless. Different bits of information about the plan were spread amongst the rebel victors. Separate we only know a piece of the puzzle. To solve it we must come together. I can't give the Gamemakers any hint of what we plan to do.

So I lie. "I don't know. It's almost as if I could hear it. Listen." We're all quiet. Nothing but the sounds of insects and birds and a breeze rustling the foliage can be heard.

Peeta, of course, knows that I'm lying. I can tell by the look in his eye. But he doesn't say anything other than, "I can't hear anything."

"Yes," I insist. "You can just make it out. It's kind of like the buzzing the fence makes in 12 when it's on, only softer." I pause and pretend to listen intently. "There! Can't you hear it?"

"I don't hear it either," Finnick shakes his head. "But if you do, then by all means, lead the way."

I decide that I need a more solid excuse for why only I can hear the force field, so I say, "Weird. I can only hear it out of my left ear."

"The one the doctors reconstructed?" Peeta asks, catching on. I'm so glad he's as smart as he is.

I nod. "Yeah. They must have done a real good job, huh?"

After another few minutes, we continue on with me in the lead. Finnick quickly fashions Mags a cane out of a branch, and makes a staff for Peeta. Mags and Peeta walk in the middle of me and Finnick, and I'm glad that Finnick is watching our backs. With Peeta so weak (though he's trying to hide it and failing spectacularly) Finnick is the only one who could fight off an attacker if we were to get jumped from behind.

Since I can't hear the force field in reality, I cut off a branch of nuts that dangle from the limb like grapes. Keeping with the lie, I walk with the force field to my left, while occasionally tossing the nuts into the force field so that I can keep track of where it is. The nuts go up in a puff of smoke and then drop blackened to the ground. After a few minutes, I'm aware of a smacking sound and I turn to see Mags skillfully peeling the nuts and then popping them into her mouth.

"Mags, spit that out!" I tell her. "It could be poisonous."

Mags mumbles something that I don't understand and I look pointedly at Finnick, but he just shrugs and says with a smile, "Well, we'll find out."

Sometimes I wonder about Finnick. He saves Mags, but lets her eat strange nuts. Something about that just strikes me as odd, but I still trust Finnick. Haymitch does, and if someone has managed to earn Haymitch Abernathy's trust then who am I to question them? Besides, I see Finnick as family and I know Peeta does, too. And in a family, you accept each other, despite their quirks . . . and Finnick sure has a few.

We continue walking for another hour, and all the while I keep tossing the nuts, hoping that I'll find a break in the force field and we'll be able to get away from the Cornucopia and find water, but it soon appears hopeless. We seem to be going in a slightly curved path. It's obvious that we'll never be able to break through to the left. I look behind me and see Mag's limping form and Peeta covered in a sheen of sweat. They can't go on much longer.

"Let's rest," I say. "I want to get another view from above."

This time it's Finnick who gives me a boost into the tree. This tree is taller than the one I climbed previously and I climb all the way to the top, dangerously high. My only support is a stretch of trunk that's no larger than a sapling and I gently sway back and forth with the breeze.

My eyes search the arena, for once having a clear view. I now see why we were following a curved path along the force field. The arena is a circle, a perfect circle with a wheel in the middle. Pink skies rim the arena along with the dense jungle. The middle is filled with the blue of the sea. I can make out two chinks in the armor, as Wiress and Beetee have dubbed them. Just to make sure, I string an arrow in my bow and aim over the tree line. When my arrow connects, I see a flash of blue sky before the force field spits out my arrow and flings it back into the arena. So the force field not only circles the arena, but is in the shape of a dome.

I climb back down the tree, dropping into Finnick's waiting arms. He sets me on my feet and I tell them of what I've learned. "The force field has us trapped in a circle, a dome to be more specific. I don't know how high it goes. There's the Cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around the edge. It's very exact and symmetrical, and not very big."

"Did you see any water?" Finnick asks.

I sigh regretfully. "Only the saltwater at the Cornucopia."

"There must be some other source," Peeta says, frowning as he tries to think of a solution. "Or we'll all be dead in a matter of days."

"Well, the foliage is thick," I reply. "Maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere." I'm doubtful of this, but I don't want to be too much of a pessimist. The truth is that I'm wondering if Snow has given Plutarch the order to nip these Games in the bud. They're not popular and surely the state of his empire is more important to him than twenty-four victors trying to kill each other. "At any rate, there's no reason to keep trying to see what's on the other side of this hill, because the answer is nothing."

"There has to be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel," Peeta insists, his brows furrowed in thought.

We all realize that we only have one option. Going back to the Cornucopia, toward the Careers, toward the bloodbath. Going into a death trap with Mags hardly able to walk and Peeta far too weak to fight.

"Let's get away from the force field," I say. "Try a few hundred yards down. See if there's any water at that level."

Everyone agrees and we resume our trek. The sun beats down on us and the air is so thick with humidity that it's almost like we're breathing water. Ha. If only that were true. I'm in the lead once again, Finnick bringing up the rear. I search fruitlessly for any sign of water, but it's nowhere in sight. Already, due to the excessive heat in the arena, my tongue has a dry patch and that heavy fatigue is settling in my bones.

By midafternoon, I have to stop. Not only for me but for Mags and Peeta. It's clear that they can't go on, and I've stopped because of the baby. All this exertion without water can't be good and I'm beginning to worry that I might be jeopardizing the baby. I know that it's doubly important for me to stay hydrated, and suddenly I'm filled with fear as a sickening thought strikes me.

What if I lose the baby?

Honestly, the thought actually hasn't ever crossed my mind until now. Whenever I thought of my baby dying, it was always because _I_ died. But what if . . . what if . . . what if I live? What if I live and my baby dies? The thought is so abhorrently painful that I'm nearly overcome with it. As it is, I grip a tree for support. We need water. I need water. My baby needs water. I've got to find water.

Finnick suggests that we make camp near the force field. We can use it as a weapon if we're attacked, tossing our enemies into it. Everyone plops down onto the ground, exhausted. Mags and Finnick begin to pull at five-foot long grasses, intending to weave them together into mats. Going off the fact that Mags hasn't fallen over dead yet, Peeta collects bunches of nuts and tosses them into the force field, toasting them and then peeling them, placing the meats on a leaf. I sit by him, feeling rather useless and worrying over the thought that I might miscarry in this arena. After all, miscarriages occur more often in the early stages of pregnancy, don't they? How have I not thought of this until now?

Peeta, despite being exhausted from coming back from the dead, is still alert enough to see that something is bothering me. "Katniss, what's wrong?"

I don't know what to tell him, but I can't lie to him. That's one thing with me and Peeta. We don't lie to each other. "I'm scared," I admit softly and Peeta takes my hand.

"Hey, it's going to be fine," he assures me. "I'll be okay. Few hours of sleep and I'll be good as new."

I shake my head. "No, it's not you." Peeta frowns in confusion, and I swallow, the dryness in my throat exacerbating my growing desperation to find water. "I'm worried about the baby," I divulge, my voice barely audible, but Peeta hears me. "What if I . . . I mean, what if I lose . . ." I can't finish my sentence. To admit the very real possibility is far too painful.

But Peeta understands what I'm trying to say. For a second his eyes reflect the fear that I'm sure is shining in my own eyes, but then determination takes its place. "You won't," Peeta assures me. "We're both victors. We're both _survivors_. Our kid is a survivor, too, alright? It's in their blood." His hand comes up to gently brush away the one tear that has escaped me, and he captures my lips in a soft kiss. "You'll both be fine," he assures me when he breaks away. "I promise."

I nod, mildly reassured, but I still feel helpless. I have to do something. I have to protect my child. My eyes find Finnick. "Finnick, why don't you stand guard and I'll hunt around some more for water." Everyone begins to object, not at all thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, Peeta most notably, but the threat of dehydration hangs ominously in the air.

"I won't go far," I promise Peeta.

"I'm going with you."

"No," I argue. He needs his rest. "I plan to do some hunting if I can. I won't be long."

Peeta relents with a sigh, and I give him a small smile before disappearing into the dense jungle. I silently tread through the foliage, searching for any sign of water, but all I find is more greenery.

The boom of a cannon blast causes me to pause. The bloodbath at the Cornucopia must finally be over. I count the shots with a heavy heart. Nine. Not as many as the initial eleven last year, but the weight of each death still beats me down. Nine people died today, nine people that I got to know over the last three days.

The knowledge of the deaths only lowers my spirits further, and I lean against a tree, my fatigue suddenly seeming more potent. I gently rub my belly, wondering if I can play on the sympathies of the sponsors and then Haymitch can send in some water. No such luck.

I sink to the ground and in my silence I begin to notice the animals. Brightly colored birds with long tail feathers. Strange multicolored lizards with blue tongues. Then I spot the strangest creature yet, looking like something between a rat and a possum. It's just hanging on a branch, still as stone.

So I shoot it.

It falls to the ground with a thud, and I study it a bit closer. It's ugly. Gray, fuzzy fur and two wicked-looking, tusk-like teeth that protrude over it's lower lip. I quickly skin and clean it—and then promptly throw up. Oh, _brilliant_. The smell of raw meat makes me puke, too. This is just great. I rub my stomach so that everyone watching realizes that it's just the baby making me nauseous and not that I've suddenly gotten a weak stomach. I take a deep breath and hold it, but just as I'm about to walk away, holding the carcass as far away from me as possible, I notice something.

It's muzzle is wet.

I immediately begin searching. Water. It's nearby. The large rat in my hands is proof that there is water in the arena. I search and search for water, every spec of ground within a thirty yard radius. I find nothing. Not a single drop.

Disheartened, I make my way back to camp. The others have not been idle in my absence. Mags and Finnick have been hard at work, creating a hut of sorts. Three walls, a floor, and a low hanging roof. Mags's quick, talented fingers have also woven some bowls that Peeta has filled with the roasted nuts. They all look up at me expectantly, hopeful, but I shake my head. "No water," I say. "But it's out there. He knew where it was." I hold up my kill, as far away from me as a can.

"What's with you?" Finnick asks, noticing my odd behavior.

I crinkle my nose and swallow. "The smell of raw meat makes me sick, so I've discovered."

"_Ew_."

"Shut up," I snap, trying not to focus on the smell that currently has my stomach roiling. "He'd been drinking recently when I shot him out of a tree, but I couldn't find his source. I swear, I covered every inch of ground in a thirty-yard radius." I feel another bout of nausea coming on, and add quickly, "Now, someone please get this thing away from me and cook it."

Peeta comes to my rescue, taking the skinned rodent from me. "Can we eat him?" he wonders. "His meat looks like a squirrels . . . and we ought to cook him . . ." Peeta's brow furrows, no doubt thinking what we all are. Starting a fire in this arena is a big flare. The smoke would easily be seen because we're all so close together.

But I see Peeta get this light in his eyes, one that tells me he has an idea. I watch as Peeta cuts a cube of rodent meat and then skewers it on a stick, which he then tosses into the force field. There's a sizzling sound and then the stick is tossed back. The meat is blackened but on the inside it's well cooked. We all give him a round of applause, but stop abruptly when we remember where we are.

As the sun begins to set, bringing us all some mild relief from the excessive heat, we huddle under the hut. Finnick tells me that Mags recognized the nuts we've been gathering from previous Games, and since she hasn't keeled over yet, I try one. It's slightly sweet, kind of like a chestnut, and I eat a few. The rodent, which Finnick decides to call a tree rat, isn't the best meat, but it's juicy. Not a bad meal for the first day of the Games. If only we had some water to wash it all down.

Finnick begins to ask lots of questions about the tree rat. What was it doing? Where did I shoot it? How high was it? I can't tell him much, because the animal wasn't doing much of anything. Just sitting on the limb, pretending to be a statue, and it's not very helpful in trying to deduce how it got its water.

As the night dawns I begin to grow restless and dread coils in my stomach. This arena makes me uneasy. Last year wasn't so bad because I was in the woods, woods that I recognized and was comfortable with. Not the case this year. I have no idea what crawls along the ground at night or the predators that come out to hunt. At least the grass mats will provide some protection from whatever crawls along the ground.

A shimmering, white moon appears in the sky, providing us with some light, but our conversations begin to dwindle. We all know what's coming. Any minute, the anthem will play and we'll see who died today. Everyone positions themselves at the entrance to the hut and Peeta wraps his arm around me. I think that this will be harder for Finnick and Mags, since they've known the other victors much longer than Peeta and I, but I still don't doubt that seeing the faces of the dead in the sky will be difficult for me.

The sky lights up, and the seal of Panem shines as the anthem plays. The first face to appear is Gloss and Peeta's arm tightens around me. I lay a hand on his knee in comfort. The next face is the male tribute from District 5, the one that Finnick killed at the Cornucopia. So Cashmere is alive and knows for sure that her brother is dead. No doubt she's with Brutus and Enobaria. But this also means that Beetee and Wiress are alive, and that makes me smile a little.

The male morphling from 6 is next to appear, followed by Cecelia and Woof from 8. My heart clinches as I remember Cecelia at the reaping, more specifically the three small children clinging to her, not wanting to let her go. My hand finds my stomach.

Both tributes from District 9 appear, followed by the woman from 10 and Seeder from 11. The final notes of the anthem ring in the sky and the seal reappears for a brief moment before the sky is black and we're left with only the dim light of the pale moon. All of us are quiet and still. I lay my head on Peeta's shoulder as I think of everyone that died today. I may not have known them well, but I still grieve for them.

I'm not sure how long we might have stayed motionless, but the blinking light of a silver parachute causes all of us to look up. It lands right in the middle of us and we all stare at it for a moment. Finally, I say, "Whose do you think it is?"

Finnick shrugs. "Why don't we let Peeta claim it? He died today."

No one objects, so Peeta takes the parachute and spreads it out on the ground. Connected to the chute is a small metal object. Peeta holds it up to his face, frowning. "What is it?" he asks, but none of us answer. We all take turns messing with it, turning it over in our hands trying to figure out what the object is.

It's a hollow, metal tube that's tapered slightly at one end. I know that I've seen it before. It looks familiar, but for the life of me, I can't place it. It's such a bland looking object, very miscellaneous. It could be anything. Peeta blows on one end to see if it makes a sound, but it doesn't. Finnick slides it onto is pinkie, but he can't think of a way to use it as a weapon. Mags just studies it with her beady eyes, before finally mumbling something to Finnick, who tells us that she can't think of a way to fish with it.

The strange, frustrating object comes back to my hands and my eyes narrow as I study it. I turn it over and over in my hands, looking at it from various angles. I still can't place where I've seen this before, but I know I have. It must be important. Haymitch wouldn't have sent it otherwise. All his gifts have a purpose, a lifesaving purpose. I've just got to figure it out. I can almost hear him in my head, _Use your brain if you have one. What is it?_

I slam the thing into the ground and then lay on the mat, glaring at it balefully. Peeta begins to rub a tense spot between my shoulders and I sigh, relaxing a little. "You'll figure it out," he tells me confidently. "Try not to think so hard. It'll come to you."

I take Peeta's advice and try to let my mind drift. Unsurprisingly, my thoughts take me to District 12. Home. I think of my Prim, my mother, and Maya. Gale. Rye. Even Chris. My family that I miss dearly. I hope that they're safe. That they haven't been taken into custody by Thread. I hope that they're not being punished as Cinna is. As Darius is. All because of me.

I want to be in the woods, a decent woods full of trees and greenery that I know and feel safe surrounded by. A woods with streams rushing with cold water. Gentle, cool breezes. No, a cold, fierce wind that blows the intense heat away. The kind of cold that bites, freezing your ears and your nose . . . and suddenly it all clicks. I have a name for the strange piece of metal.

"A spile!" I exclaim as I bolt upright, startling everyone. I quickly dislodge the spile from the dirt and begin to clean it.

"What?" Finnick asks confused.

I don't answer immediately, studying the spile in my hand. I've seen this before, on a cold, windy day in the woods with my father. We'd been collecting sap. I remember my father drilling a hole into the trunk of a maple and then inserting the spile. A thin stream of golden brown, sticky liquid dripped from the end of the spile into a bucket. Maple syrup for our bread was a treat. I don't know where all my father's spiles disappeared to. Probably hidden in the woods somewhere, never to be found.

"It's a spile," I finally explain after my trip down memory lane. "Sort of like a faucet. You put it in a tree and sap comes out." I stare at the green tree trunks that surround us, and suddenly it all makes sense. I look at Peeta and I know he's followed my train of thought.

He gets to his feet, grabs the awl from Mags, and then drives it into the nearest tree a good two inches. Finnick and Mags have followed us, and Peeta continues to explain as he cuts a hole in the tree trunk for the spile. "Since these obviously aren't the trees for sap . . ." He grunts as he continues to gouge a hole in the tree. "Something else must be inside these trees."

And Finnick and Mags immediately understand. Water.

Finnick begins to help Peeta make the hole big enough for the spile, so Mags and I sit back to wait. When they step back from the tree after another minute, I step forward and carefully wedge the spile into the hole. For a second, nothing happens . . . and then a single drop of water drips from the spile.

Mags catches the drop in her hands and then licks it off before holding her hands out for more. Eventually, a small, but steady stream begins to pour from the spile and we all take turns satiating our thirst. Mags weaves a bowl of grass so tightly that it can hold the water and we fill it before passing it around.

The water, like everything in the arena, is warm, but I'm not picky. All that matters is that I have water, which means that my baby has water. Hopefully we'll be okay, though the thought of miscarriage has been lurking hauntingly in the back of my mind since I first thought of it earlier in the day, and I know it will continue to weigh heavily on me until we manage to get out of here.

Once our thirst is quenched, we can afford to be luxurious. We splash our faces with water, and I have Peeta unzip the top of his jumpsuit so I can clean the cut on his chest that he received during his fight with Gloss. He protests, but one look at the seriousness in my eyes causes him to relent. The last thing that I'm going to let happen is for his cut to get infected. Too many bad memories of last year flit through my mind.

Now that I no longer have my thirst to distract me, I realize how exhausted I am. I can only imagine how Peeta feels, but his eyes are wide open, studying our surroundings. We all begin to make preparations for the night, and I load my bow with an arrow and then lay it next to me. Going off an errant thought, I grab a nearby vine and strip it of its leaves. Then, I use it to tie the spile to my belt. I'm not losing this precious item.

Peeta is still sitting up, trying to keep his eyes open. I gently put a hand on his shoulder and ease him onto his back. "You need to go to sleep," I tell him softly.

He hums in reply, his eyelids already fluttering closed, though he pulls me down to him. "You too," he murmurs, already half-asleep. I can't argue with him so I lay my head on his chest and his arms wrap around me. As odd and ridiculous as it is, a feeling of safety envelops me as I lie in Peeta's arms. Only Peeta could make me feel safe in a place like this.

Finnick, who had been politely ignoring mine and Peeta's exchange, offers to take watch. I let him, because I know that I will be the next to take watch. Finnick and I are the only ones who can. Mags fell asleep ten minutes ago, and she needs all the rest she can get. The same goes for Peeta. So I close my eyes and try to sleep.

Fifteen minutes pass, and though I'm exhausted, I can't find sleep. All I can focus on is the steady beat of Peeta's heart, a sound that I never thought I'd hear again. I'll have nightmares about today for the rest of my life. The one day I put my head on Peeta's chest and was met with silence. No heartbeat. No breath. No life. Peeta was dead.

I feel a tear slip from the corner of my eye, but I don't bother to wipe it away. I press myself even closer to Peeta, my arm draped over his waist tightening. The steady thump-thump of his heartbeat is keeping me sane and driving me crazy at the same time. I think I'm too afraid to fall asleep. Too afraid that I'll wake up and be met with silence.

I lost Peeta. Briefly. But I still lost him. It's a pain that I never want to know again, but will always haunt me. For a brief moment, I was alone. For a brief moment, I was faced with the reality of being a single parent. That's the most painful thing. The thought of raising my child without Peeta. I can't do this without him. I can't survive without him.

I will forever owe Finnick a debt that I'll never be able to repay.

With this thought, I lift my head from Peeta's chest to look at Finnick. Because my movement means I can no longer hear Peeta's heartbeat, I place my hand on his chest so that I can feel it. I wonder how long it will take me to accept the fact that his heart will continue to beat.

"Finnick?" He turns his head to look at me, and I think I see a flash of pain and longing in his eyes as he looks at the position Peeta and I are in. Does he wish he had someone to hold in his sleep as well?

"What?" he asks.

"Thank you," I say softly, my eyes darting to Peeta's sleeping face. My eyes return to Finnick. "I'll never be able to repay you."

Finnick gives me his signature smile. "I'm sure I can think of a few ways." I scowl, but I'm still fighting a smile. "Now, go to sleep."

I lay my head back on Peeta's chest, getting comfortable once more. Peeta's arms tighten around me subconsciously and just as I'm about to close my eyes, Finnick's voice stops me. "Hey, Katniss." Our eyes meet. "You're welcome."

I smile and close my eyes, drifting off to sleep to the sound of Peeta's beating heart.

_Bong! Bong! Bong!_

I jerk awake at the tolling sound. It's a testament to Peeta's exhaustion that he doesn't wake the moment I move, let alone the loud tolling. My eyes find Finnick's and I see that he's listening to the tolling bell just as attentively as I am. I've only been asleep for a few hours I can tell, because I hardly feel refreshed. Finnick and I are silent until the tolling stops.

"I counted twelve," he says, and I nod in agreement.

What does it mean? One ring for each district, maybe? No. That can't be it. There has to be a more substantial reason. "What do you think it means?"

"No idea."

Helpful, but I'm at a loss as well. I wait for some sign. Maybe for Claudius Templesmith to announce a feast, some kind of announcement, but the only thing that I notice is in the distance. A dazzling, bright bolt of lightning shatters in the sky, striking a towering tree. A lightning storm begins.

I turn to Finnick. "Go to sleep," I tell him. "I'll take over." Finnick is reluctant, and I remind him, "You can't stay awake forever."

He nods and collapses onto the mat, almost immediately breaking the silence with a soft snore. I can't help but smile a little. However, I quickly sharpen my senses. In the distance, after the lightning storm abates, I hear the telltale sound of rain. An hour passes as I wait for it to reach us, but it never does.

And then a cannon sounds. It startles me, but none of my companions wake. I don't bother waking them up to tell them that someone died. I don't even wonder who it was.

In the next few minutes, the elusive rain stops abruptly, never having reached where we are, even though it couldn't have been more than a few hundred yards away. In the next second I see a white fog rolling in. At first, I think nothing of it. A natural reaction to cold rain on hot ground.

But something in me recoils at the fog. Its wisp-like tendrils clawing their way steadily over the ground toward us. Something is wrong with this. It's not normal. It's not natural. Too uniform. Too even.

Like the fire from last year.

Immediately, I'm shaking everyone awake and yelling for them to move. They all look at me bleary-eyed, but it doesn't take them long to see that I'm serious about this threat. Finnick immediately hops to his feet, his tridents in his hands, already slinging Mags onto his back. I'm hauling Peeta to his feet, and grabbing my bow and arrows.

And in the ten seconds it has taken to get everyone up and ready to flee, a sickeningly sweet odor has invaded my nostrils and my skin has already started to blister.

"Run!"

* * *

**Ah, evil fog! Seriously, I wonder how Collins came up with that. Maybe she watched _LOST_. The fog reminds me of that big, black evil cloud thing.**

**Anyhoo, another chapter down! There's actually only six more chapters left! Ah! The story is dwindling down, but trust me when I say it's action, action, action from here on out! Muahaha!  
**

**So, in summary for this chapter: Mags is a tired, ridiculously awesome old woman, Finnick is still sexy and he knows it, Peeta is alive again (thanks Finnick), and Katniss is worried about the baby, insanely hormonal, and fleeing from the evil fog that may or may not be influenced by the creepy black smoke-cloud-thing from _LOST_.  
**

**Yep, I think that covers it.  
**

**Quote from _Come Rain or Come Shine_ comes from . . . Katniss!  
**

**"You're such a dumbass."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	30. Chapter 30

******************************A/N: Okay! Here we are yet again with another chapter and the end of another week. Personally, I am beyond thrilled that Friday is finally upon us. After taking everyday I am ready for the weekend. Well, after my French final. Gotta get through that one before the weekend truly begins.  
**

******************************So, enough of my yammering about school that I'm sure you don't really care about. It really is quite boring. Therefore, might I propose we talk about the story? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. This chapter is a lot of fun. Some serious moments here, but it's the reality of KP's situation. Kinda sucks. Don't worry, I found a way to work in some humor! You guys know me. Can't have things _too_ serious.  
**

******************************Except in Come Rain or Come Shine. Yeah, that's the exception.  
**

*******************************cackles with evil laughter*  
**

******************************Don't worry, don't worry . . . too much . . . Haymitch and Rye have some pretty good one-liners in CROCS, I swear.**

******************************Movie quote of the day comes from the _Avengers_.  
**

******************************"What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?" - Tony Stark  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."; "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"  
**

* * *

Chapter 30

"What is it?" Peeta asks as we barrel through the jungle. "What is it?"

"A fog!" I reply as we leap over a cluster of vines. "Poisonous!"

And it's painful. Droplets from the ghostly fog seem to leap out to land on our skin, but the pain isn't like being burned. No, it's like acid eating away at our skin, burrowing under all the layers to produce a sharp stab of intense pain. The sheerness of our jumpsuits provides no protection at all. I've lost sight of Finnick, but I steer myself and Peeta in the direction that I think he went.

Now that the initial adrenaline rush has past, it's clear that the aftereffects of Peeta's encounter with the force field are much more potent than he was letting on. Our pace slows, and while the vines that litter and snake along the jungle floor merely trip me up occasionally, they cause Peeta to stumble nearly every step.

I grasp his hand tightly in mine. "Try and step where I do!"

It helps. Peeta and I begin to move faster, but not fast enough to allow ourselves a brief rest. The fog continues to crawl after us ominously, its snaking tendrils seeming to pull it along the ground. I entertain the idea of climbing a tree, getting above the fog line, but I tend to need a boost to get into all these trees and there was no way that Peeta could climb. He doesn't have the strength.

So we continue to run.

Finnick appears in front of us, apparently having noticed that we were having problems. He shouts encouragement to us, trying to get us to move faster and for a while it helps. But Peeta is so weak and all the adrenaline in the world could not make him move any faster than he already is. Finnick's voice acts as a guide, but that's about all that he can do for us.

I notice that he's moving in a diagonal. He's heading toward the Cornucopia, toward the water. Now that I know the direction, it's easier for me to move a little faster. I'm briefly filled with a bit of hope, or a surge in motivation at least, knowing that there is a metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. We only have to make it there.

And then my arm begins to spasm. It's uncontrollable and suddenly I'm filled with a fear that eclipses the blisters and the burns. Whatever chemical is in this fog targets our nerves. I glance up at Peeta and see that he's affected too. His eyelid seems to be drooping without his consent and one corner of his mouth is slack, forming an odd grimace.

"Come on, Peeta," I encourage.

We make it a few more yards before Peeta suddenly collapses, taking me down with him, though I manage to brace my fall. I'm thinking he merely tripped over a vine, but when I try and haul him to his feet, I realize that my assumption was wrong. The fog has caused Peeta's legs to give out. Peeta can't run anymore, and I can't possibly drag him along.

Peeta realizes this, too. "Go," he tells me. "Go."

Leave. He wants me to leave him. My eyes dart to the fog, only a few yards away and quickly closing in, as if it senses a potential victim. Leave. I can't just leave him on the ground. That's too cruel. Too cold. I can't leave him like this. I can't leave him to die.

"Baby." It's not Peeta using a pet name. It's him reminding me. The baby. _Our_ baby. If I don't leave, I'll die. If I die, our baby dies, which is the one thing that neither of us can live with.

A tear slides down my cheek as I feel my heart shatter. I turn to flee . . . and then Finnick appears. He sets Mags down on the ground and looks to me. "Can you take Mags?" he asks.

I'm still reeling from the fact that I was going to leave Peeta to die to save our child. But I push that back. Survive. That's what I do. "Yes," I answer in as strong a voice as I can. I squat down and Mags positions herself over my shoulder.

Mags isn't heavy by any means, maybe seventy pounds, but I feel my heart sink. I know that I can't carry Mags's weight forever. We've got to find a way from this fog soon. Both my arms are wracked with spasms now, shaking uncontrollably.

Finnick and I take off running the moment he has Peeta across his back. I trail behind him, following his path. We continue to run at a diagonal, keeping a distance between ourselves and the fog while still moving toward the water of the Cornucopia. But even with Peeta now being carried by Finnick, our pace is still too slow. That, or the fog is gliding toward us with increasing deadly speed.

When I fall to the ground, it's not Mags's fault. My legs aren't working, shaking spasmodically like a stringed-puppet's. The first two times I stumble, I manage to get back to my feet, but the third time's the charm. No matter how hard I try, I can't get my legs to cooperate. I grip the vines around me, trying to pull myself up, but I can't manage it. My legs aren't working.

Finnick is suddenly in front of me again, Peeta hanging over his shoulder. "It's no use," I tell him. "Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I'll catch up." A dubious proposal, but I say it with as much strength as I can.

"No," Finnick says, his sea green eyes shining in the moonlight, and I realize it's because they're shimmering with tears. "I can't carry them both. My arms aren't working." It's true. His arms are just as plagued with spasms as mine are. Of his two tridents, only one remains, and it's clutched in Peeta's hands. "I'm sorry, Mags. I can't."

And then the craziest thing happens. Mags gets to her feet, plants a kiss on Finnick's lips, and then charges into the fog, looking stronger than I've ever seen . . . but it doesn't last. The fog seems to converge on her and her small, frail body is wracked with convulsions. It's one of the most horrifying things I've seen, but when I turn to look at Finnick, I see that he's already turned away from the scene.

A cannon sounds. Mags is gone.

I want to scream. I want to make sense of Mags's death, but I don't have the time. I have to survive. The fog is nearly a yard away from me, and something within me, some strength I didn't know I had, causes me to scramble to my feet. I don't know how I manage it, but I stumble along after Finnick, forcing my legs to work. The baby is at the forefront of my mind. Get the baby away from the fog. Protect. That's all I'm thinking about, and I'm filled with such a strong determination that I manage to catch up with Finnick, only trailing a few yards behind him.

After thirty more yards, Finnick finally collapses, causing Peeta to land on top of him. The strange force that has kept my legs moving does not cease as to allow me to stop running, so I continue to move forward until I trip over their prone bodies. I land on top of Peeta and for a moment, all of us just lie there gasping for air.

Finnick's groan is what finally gets me to move, and I manage to roll myself off of them. It's then that I see why we haven't been enveloped by the fog like Mags. It's almost as if the fog hit a glass wall. I watch as it continues to condense and slowly grow taller and taller, but it never moves forward. It's reached the end of its leash, its boundary line. Just like the rain, just like all the other horrors in this arena.

"It's stopped," I say, but my voice sounds terrible. I try and clear it. "It's stopped," I repeat in a much more intelligible voice. Both Peeta and Finnick look up briefly to see that what I say is true, and we all watch as the fog disappears upward, like it's being sucked into a vacuum.

Five seconds later and it's gone.

Peeta rolls off Finnick, and finds my hand in the sand. For a moment, I don't feel any pain as I meet Peeta's eyes. I squeeze his hand, telling him without words that I'm grateful he's with me. I almost had to live my worst nightmare, abandoning Peeta to save our child. If it weren't for Finnick's impeccable timing, I would have left him. Peeta, as if sensing my thoughts, squeezes my hand reassuringly.

We all continue to lie on our backs in silence until Peeta makes a vague gesture upward and says, "Mon-hees." My eyes flit up to the trees above us and sure enough, monkeys. I've never seen a monkey before, but 'monkey' is the first word that comes to my mind when I gaze at the furry creatures. About half the size of a human with fuzzy orange fur. They study us as we study them, and that's how it is for the next five minutes. Exchanging gazes between ourselves and the monkeys above us.

Peeta is the first to do something proactive, managing to get to his knees and begin to crawl down the slope. Since walking is completely out of the question, crawling is the next best thing, and both Finnick and I struggle to our knees and then begin to crawl after Peeta. We crawl until we leave the jungle, coming out onto the narrow strip of beach and then on to the water.

The moment my skin comes into contact with the water, I jerk back like it bit me. _Like salt in a wound_. I can now fully appreciate the phrase. The salt in the water when in contact with my blistered skin causes a white hot pain to shoot through me. But in the brief second my hand was in the water, I also felt the sensation of drawing out. Gritting my teeth, I place my hand in the water again, and though the initial pain is nearly blinding and almost causes me to pass out . . . it slowly begins to diminish. I watch as a milky white substance pours from the blisters on my hands, the pain ebbing the longer my hand stays in the water.

I unbuckle the belt from my waist and peel off my jumpsuit. It's worthless anyways, and looks like someone used it for target practice with a machine gun. I toss it aside and am left in only my underclothes, which for some reason are not damaged. A white tank top over a white bra with matching white underwear, though they are made like a pair of very tight, very short shorts.

I vaguely wonder if the Capitol is upset that I don't have a baby bump. It would certainly be visible now in this state of undress.

I continue to think of the Capitol as I slowly ease myself into the water, inch by inch. I start with just my feet, and to distract myself from the stinging pain I wonder how things are in the Capitol. Are they watching the Games with the same fervor as last year? Or are they weary due to Peeta's announcement? Did they wail in anguish when Peeta died, however briefly, leaving me alone to raise our child? Did it make them stop and think? Think that maybe all of this is horridly wrong?

I sink into the water until my knees are submerged. My mind drifts to Haymitch, the first father figure I've had in nearly six years, however flawed he might be. How is he? Is Snow keeping an eye on him? What about District 13? Has he been in contact with them? Is everything in place for the break out? The water is now up to my hips. What about Cinna? What has happened to him? Has he been made into an Avox? Like Darius?

My thoughts come to a halt when I hear a pained groan. I look to my left and see that Peeta has followed my example and gotten into the water as well. The water is just under his chest and his eyes are shut tight. Despite all the pain I'm in, I know that I actually got off easily compared to Peeta and Finnick. Finnick is the worst off. He hasn't even moved from his place on the beach, not even going near the water.

I submerge until just my neck is above the water, and I take Peeta's hand. His eyes open and meet mine, and it's like we reach a mutual decision without words. Simultaneously, both of us submerge completely. It's the worst pain yet, but I suffer through it, knowing that it's drawing out the poison. I snort water through my nostrils to clear my sinuses and gargle more than once to clear my throat.

When I resurface I still feel terrible, but I'm not in agonizing pain, so I consider it an upgrade. Peeta and I move out of the water to help Finnick. Though some feeling is returning to my leg, the muscles in my arms still spasm sporadically. I can't drag Finnick to the water. Besides, the pain might kill him, and I like Finnick Odair very much alive.

Peeta cuts away Finnick's jumpsuit and together we turn him one hundred eighty degrees. We repeat the same process with Finnick that we used, slowly sliding him into the water inch by inch. First we just put his feet in. Wait a few minutes. Up to midcalf. Wait another few minutes. Up to mid thigh. When we submerge him until the water is at his waist, he begins to stir, a pained moan escaping him.

It's just now that I realize how vulnerable our current position is. Even though it's night, the bright pale light of the moon illuminates the arena fairly clear, especially in the open expanse of the beach and the Cornucopia. If we were to be attacked, especially by the Careers, we would be easily overpowered and killed. And if the mere passing of time doesn't give our position away, Finnick's moans will.

As I watch the clouds of white escape Finnick's wounds, I notice that not only does being in the water drag out the poison, but it also helps with my muscle spasms and my mind clears. Peeta's droopy eye is almost back to normal and his mouth has lost its previous grimace.

Finnick begins to revive and slowly become more alert. When we submerge him until only his neck is above the water, he groans loudly in pain. I rest his head in my lap and stroke his hair soothingly as he grits his teeth. His arms got the worst of the fog and little rivulets of the white poison permeate the water around him. We let him sit like this for a good ten minutes before Peeta says, "There's just your head left, Finnick. That's the worst part, but you'll feel much better after, if you can bear it."

Peeta and I exchange a small smile when Finnick lifts his arms out of the water to grab each of our hands. After Finnick detoxifies his eyes, nose, and mouth, Peeta and I help him back onto the beach, though we keep his lower half in the water. We need Finnick to heal quickly, and the water is revitalizing. Speaking of water . . .

"I'm going to go tap a tree," I announce, thinking of all the running we've done. We need to rehydrate. I need the spile . . . the spile! My fingers quickly move to my belt, and I sigh in relief when I feel the cool metal, still tied to my waist. Thank god, I didn't lose it during our run from the fog.

"Let me make the hole first," Peeta offers before motioning to Finnick. "You stay with him. You're the healer."

Ha. I raise my eyebrows in a 'you've got to be kidding me' gesture, and Peeta grins. "You kept me alive, and I was worse off than Finnick."

"I was motivated," I say with a small smile. But he does have a point. It makes more sense for Peeta to make the hole for the spile, not because I'm the 'healer' but because it would simply take me forever to carve out the hole. "But I'll stay with him."

Finnick's voice is still too raw to speak, but he makes a sound of annoyance. I roll my eyes as I set his head in my lap again, my fingers absently stroking his hair. Finnick glares up at me briefly, before his lids flutter closed and he sighs. The thought that I'm currently the envy of hundreds of women in the Capitol occurs to me. What they probably wouldn't give to have Finnick Odair rest his head in their lap and be able to stroke his hair as I'm doing now.

I can hear Peeta carving away at a tree just inside the tree line. I can barely see his broad form, the tangle of trees and vines obscuring him for the most part, but the steady sound of his knife cutting into the bark reassures me that he's okay. I wonder where the awl is, and if we lost it with Mags. She had been carrying it. Either she took it with her to her death or she dropped it when I fell. It doesn't really matter, I suppose. It's gone. Just like Mags.

As I continue to stroke Finnick's hair, I wonder about Mags's death. It makes no sense to me. Did she jump into the fog because she was old and knew her days were winding down, anyway? Why did Finnick let her? It's almost as though he abandoned her to carry Peeta . . . to save Peeta. Oh. That's exactly what he did. That's exactly what Mags did. Someone had to die, but it couldn't be me or Peeta, the symbol of the rebellion. Mags sacrificed herself to save Peeta, and Finnick let her. I hope that Peeta doesn't recognize this because he'll feel so incredibly guilty, even if it isn't his fault.

"You're mothering." The sound of Finnick's voice startles me, and I look down to see his sea green eyes staring up at me, mildly amused.

"Only because you're a child," I retort.

"Nope," Finnick argues lightly. "Just wait. Another day in the arena and you'll be a mother hen."

"Are you comparing me to a chicken?"

The question, of course, prompts Finnick to start making chicken noises. I shove him into the water and he begins to swim around. Well, he's feeling better. I get into the water too, just to make sure he doesn't get in over his head, literally and figuratively. We swim around a bit and I alternate floating on my back and belly. The longer I'm in the water, the better I feel.

But while the water seems to be rejuvenating me, it's transformed Finnick. He moves slowly at first, but then he gradually begins to swim. He doesn't use even strokes like me, but an array of twists and turns and dives. He swims like a seal. The water is his home. Not fifteen minutes later he's gliding through the water, doing this odd corkscrew motion that makes me dizzy just watching. Then he disappears under the water for so long I'm almost sure that he's drowned, a rather ironic death for a person from District 4, when suddenly his head pops up right beside me.

"Don't do that!" I scold. "You had me worried."

Finnick grins. "See? Mothering."

"Shut up." I snap. "Just soak in the water and behave."

"Yes, mom."

I splash water in his face. "You know what, if you feel this good, let's go help Peeta," I say, not liking the thought that he's in the jungle by himself.

Finnick shrugs, and we climb out of the water. Grabbing our weapons, we begin the short walk to Peeta. Blame it on hunter instincts, but I sense warm bodies above us when we're about ten yards from the tree line. I lay a hand on Finnick's arm and he pauses to see what's wrong. I don't bother answering, I simply direct his gaze above us.

Sitting in the trees, totaling nearly forty in all, are the orange monkeys we saw earlier. Except where the previous two we met seemed rather harmless, almost like a welcoming committee, this band of monkeys is a threat. A big one.

Finnick's hands tighten on his trident and I silently load two arrows into my bow. I don't know how, exactly, but I know that these monkeys are very aggressive. Mere eye contact is enough to set them off. I have no idea how they managed to sneak up on us like this, especially considering their number. But I have bigger things to worry about. Peeta.

"Peeta?" I call as calmly and casually as possible. I don't want to startle the monkeys or Peeta. "I need your help with something."

"Okay, just a minute," he says and I huff in frustration. At home, I say I need something, and he comes running. And then here in the arena of all places, he decides to be difficult. "I think I've just about got it," he continues as he hacks away at the tree.

I try and keep my voice measured. "Peeta, _honey_ . . ." The jungle goes ominously silent as Peeta stops hacking at the tree, finally realizing that something is wrong. I have never called him anything other than his name. "We've found something you'd better take a look at," I say. "Only move toward us quietly, so you don't startle it."

"Okay," Peeta replies just as casually, and he begins to make his way toward us. I know that he's trying, but he's still walking as loudly as ever, despite his extra time in the woods with me. Well, scratch that, _almost_ as loud as ever. He's gotten a little bit better. But all that matters to me in this moment is that he's walking toward me.

Peeta is almost on the beach when he finally senses the monkeys. He looks up only briefly, for less than a second, but it's enough to send the monkeys into a state. They move faster than any animal I've ever seen, sliding down the vines like they're greased and leaping to the ground. Sharp fangs extend menacingly from their open jaws, claws more akin to small steak knives pop out of their fingertips. All of them converge on Peeta, and Finnick and I are already running.

Mutts. No natural animal acts like this.

Peeta is slashing at the mass of orange fur surrounding him when Finnick and I arrive. I know that every shot I make has to count, and they do. One shot, one kill. However, I'd still be fighting a losing battle if I didn't have Finnick beside me, spearing monkeys left and right and then tossing the carcasses aside. Peeta, of course, is never to be underestimated and with every slash or stab of his knife a monkey dies.

But there are so many. They climb up my back, claw at my legs, tug at my braid until they are abruptly removed by either Finnick or Peeta. I can't tell. I'm too busy shooting. We stand back to back, forming a rough triangle. When I reach back to my quiver for an arrow, only to find it empty, dread fills me. Until I remember my second quiver, one currently slung over Peeta's shoulder.

I draw my knife for some form of protection, but I'm not near as good with it as Peeta, and the monkeys move so fast you can barely react. I need my arrows. "Peeta!" I shout. "Your arrows!"

Peeta turns his head and sees my plight. He's just sliding the quiver off his shoulder when it happens. A monkey, large and fierce, launches itself straight at me. I don't have time to slash at it, so I do the only thing I can think of. I throw my knife, knowing that if I don't hit the monkey I'm dead.

My knife sails through the air, flipping end over end, heading straight toward the monkey's heart . . . and the monkey miraculously somersaults out of the way. My knife goes sailing past, landing helplessly in the sand, and I realize that I'm about to die. Everything slows down, but it's like my brain speeds up. Thoughts and memories are flying through my mind with blinding speed and yet I still manage to comprehend them all. My father. The woods. The cave. Peeta. His proposal. Our toasting. Passion-filled nights. Images flit through my head, all the people I love. Peeta's soft smile. Prim's giggle. Haymitch's scowl. Rye's goofy grin. My father singing. The vague memory of my mother's shy smile.

But all I can think about, at the very end, just when the monkey's fangs are about to sink into my chest, is my baby. A child I will never know.

Abruptly, everything speeds back up, and I hear a whizzing sound fly right by my ear, disturbing some errant strands of hair that have escaped my braid. A flash of silver, and then a howl of pain. But it's not me. It's the monkey, lying prone on the ground in front of me, a long knife sticking out of its throat.

I spin around, but Peeta is already shoving the quiver of arrows into my hands. Ignoring the fact that Peeta just saved my life and our child's by making a miraculous throw, I get back to business. The monkey's numbers have lessened greatly, and I begin to fire off arrow after arrow. Every shot hits its mark.

Finally sensing the need to retreat, the remaining monkeys begin to flee. Either that, or the Gamemakers decided that we proved ourselves worthy and entertaining enough to live another day. Despite the last monkey disappearing from sight, not I nor Peeta and Finnick relax our tense, battle-ready positions. When another minute or so passes and no blob of orange fur leaps out at us, we finally relax. None of us say anything. I begin to gather my arrows from the fallen monkeys, and once Finnick sees what I'm doing he begins to help. Peeta, however, goes to the monkey that nearly killed me and retrieves his knife. It almost appears that he's debating on stabbing the monkey, just for good measure, but Peeta's shoulders sag and he turns away, helping Finnick and I collect my arrows.

We're able to retrieve almost all of the arrows before the vines on the ground begin to shift, snaking around the dead monkeys and pulling them away. I blink and then suddenly they are gone. By a silent mutual agreement, we all move back to the water. I plop down onto the sand and Peeta settles beside me. Finnick says something about shellfish and jumps into the water, but I know that he's just giving us some time alone.

Peeta and I are silent for a long time. "Eventful day," Peeta finally says, breaking the silence.

"And it's barely begun," I reply. The sun hasn't even come up yet.

But Peeta's right. It's been an eventful day. First with the fog. Mags's death. And then the monkeys. Twice today, I've prepared myself to say goodbye to Peeta in one way or another. When we fell in the fog, I was ready to leave him to save myself and our child. Even the memory causes me to cringe, and a shadow of the pain I felt making that decision consumes me.

And then there was the monkey attack only a few minutes ago. The image of that monkey, large and menacing, fangs bared, claws extended, flying through the air toward me will always be with me, haunting my nightmares. I'd been a second away from death. If Peeta hadn't thrown the knife when he had . . .

Peeta takes my hand. "I've never been more terrified," he says. "When I saw that _thing_ flying toward you and you were defenseless."

I feel a small tug of indignation pull at me. "I was not defenseless."

"Your knife missed."

He has a point.

A weary sigh escapes me. "I thought I was going to die," I divulge in a soft voice. It's weird. So many times I've had the same thought, that I was going to die, but this time was different for some reason. This time I truly believed it.

Peeta pulls me into his lap and holds me close. "So did I," he admits. "All I could think about was that I was about to lose you and the baby." Peeta holds me tighter. "And the thought was so painful that I threw that knife just to make it stop—and to save you of course," he adds, making my lips twitch up in a small smile.

"So I guess that means you must really love us, huh?" It's odd how 'I' am no longer 'me.' I am _us_. Me and the baby.

I turn slightly so I can look up at Peeta. "More than anything," he replies softly. We hold each other's gaze for a long moment before leaning in at the same time. When my lips meet his, a very familiar, comforting warmth blossoms in my chest before spreading throughout my entire body. I wrap my arms around his neck, but Peeta's hands do not stray from my waist. While my hormones do not appreciate this, my rational side does, because the last thing I want Panem to see is Peeta's hands wandering all over me. They'd enjoy that way too much.

When we break away, I rest my forehead against his. "I love you, too," I say before giving him a brief kiss and then settling my head on his shoulder. We're silent for a moment before I speak again. "Oh, and Peeta?"

"What?"

"Good throw."

* * *

**Does that count as a fluffy moment? Sorta kinda? Because that's about as fluffy as it's gonna get for the rest of this story.**

**So, in summary for this chapter: Finnick saves the day (again), Mags is dead, Katniss is hormonal but still a badass, and Peeta is simply in a league of his own.  
**

**Okay, so the quote for Come Rain or Come Shine today comes from . . . Peeta!  
**

**"You don't love me. You don't do this to someone you love. All my suffering? All of my _torture_ . . . it's all because of you. You and that spawn."  
**

***ducks and hides*  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Okay, three things.  
**

**One, sorry this is late.  
**

**Two, thanks for all the reviews.  
**

**I. ADORE. ALL. OF. YOU.  
**

**And Three, enjoy the chapter. :)  
**

**Movie quote of the day comes from . . . _The Dark Knight Rises_.  
**

**"My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men." - Catwoman  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."; "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"; "My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men."  
**

* * *

Chapter 31

I can't decide which is worse. The pain or the itching. My blisters from the fog have scabbed over and they itch like hell. I glance over at Finnick and Peeta, seeing that they too are itching just as bad as I am, scratching at their faces. "Don't scratch," I admonish them, though I'm just _itching _to scratch at my skin as well. Wow, that was a bad joke. "You'll only bring on infection."

I'm sure this is the advice my mother would give. I focus on the fact that _itching_ is synonymous _healing_. Healing wounds are always a good thing, especially in the arena. My hand drifts to my stomach without my permission. How have the events of the night affected the baby, if at all? The fog. The monkeys. The stress. Lack of a steady diet. My fears of miscarrying ignite within me once more, filling me with an urgency to do _something. _Anything that would be good for the baby.

Water. Water is always good. "You think it's safe to try for water again?" I ask, glad when my voice doesn't carry any of the urgency I feel.

Nonetheless, Peeta studies me for a moment, knowing that something is off. It's unreal how well he knows me, picking up on cadences or catches in my voice that I myself don't hear or even know exist. As we all stand to venture back to the tree Peeta was tapping before the monkeys attacked, he takes my hand and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. I shake my head, not wanting to worry him, but he seems to realize this and frowns. "I'm fine," I tell him, trying to sound as sure as I can.

Peeta seems to buy it. Either that or he's just leaving it alone for now.

Finnick and I stand guard as Peeta works in the spile. Each of us takes turns drinking our fill and allowing the warm water to pour over our itching bodies. We fill some shells with drinking water and then head back to the beach. Once we get settled again, the stress and exhaustion of the previous hours show, and all of us begin to sag and drag our feet.

Peeta lies on his back and closes his eyes. Out of all of us, he's probably the one who's feeling the worst. He's barely gotten a break since the gong sounded, fighting with Gloss, hitting the force field, running from the fog, and then our battle with the monkeys. It's a true testament to his strength that he was able to keep fighting throughout it all. However, despite his obvious exhaustion, I know that he will not allow himself to sleep until I'm lying beside him.

But I need to keep watch. Finnick needs his rest, too. "You two rest," I say. "I'll keep watch."

"No, Katniss, I'd rather," Finnick speaks up and I falter. His eyes are filled with tears and I remember how Finnick has suffered today as well, though his ailment is nothing that I can fix. After my talk with Peeta on the beach, Finnick came up for air only a few seconds later. He didn't say a word, just stayed in the water, where he was comfortable and at home . . . and most likely swimming in memories. Mags.

"Alright, Finnick." The least I can do is allow him to grieve in peace. "Thanks," I add, but I'm not thanking him for taking watch. I'm thanking him for saving Peeta.

Finnick doesn't respond, but I know he understands. I settle on the sand next to Peeta, who immediately pulls me into his arms. My eyes flutter closed as I drift off to sleep, listening to the sound of Peeta's heartbeat, and rejoicing in the fact that it's still beating.

I wake up hours later and immediately feel the need to vomit. Oh, this day is starting off great. I startle Finnick with my abrupt sprint to the sea, sailing past him without acknowledgment, and toss up everything in my stomach. Sensing a presence behind me, I look over my shoulder to see that Finnick has apparently followed me. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, but I pretend not to notice.

"That's gross," he says, cringing a little. "How do you deal with that?"

"It's a pain," I reply as I wash my hands in the water. I notice the blood caked under my nails. I must have been scratching my skin in my sleep. "But it won't last. Actually, it should be going away soon." The thought brings a small smile to my face as I do the math in my head. It's really odd how much knowledge you can learn without really trying. Just years of overhearing my mother and Prim have given me more information that I would have ever thought. I just have to take a moment and think. "I'm about twelve to thirteen weeks along."

"Hmm," Finnick hums. "When do you start getting fat?"

For the first time in my life, I think that I'm truly insulted. "Excuse you?" I raise my eyebrows, slowly rising to my feet and beginning to advance on him. "Did you seriously just ask me that?"

Finnick holds up his hands in surrender. "Just curious."

"I will not be _fat_." The idea is nearly as comical as it is ridiculous. A person from District 12 being fat. Ha. "I will be pregnant."

"You _are_ pregnant," Finnick reminds me as he continues to back away from me.

"Fine," I snap. "I will be _more_ pregnant."

"Now, that just doesn't make much sense."

"Yes, it does."

"Can't say I agree."

I draw my knife from my belt, pointing it menacingly in his direction. Finnick stiffens, but then adopts a lazy smile. "You know how to use that?"

"I could always use your face as practice," I retort. "A nice big scar to mar that pretty face."

"Aw, you think I'm pretty?" Finnicks says with a smile. "Careful, Peeta might get jealous."

The idea causes me to forget my ire at being called fat. Well, my ire at the allusion to the fact that _eventually_ I will be fat. Peeta, jealous? Ha. "Peeta doesn't get jealous," I tell Finnick.

"Katniss, every man gets jealous," Finnick tells me knowingly.

I shake my head. "Peeta's different." We've made our way back to camp by now, and I finally take note of what I missed in my haste to reach the sea to retch. Finnick's fingers have not been idle in the night. Peeta lies under a low roof of woven grass and near where Finnick was sitting are grass-woven bowls filled with water and shellfish.

Knowing that I need to eat something, I pop a piece in my mouth. The meat is slightly sweet, different from anything I've ever had, but I like it. Finnick sits down beside me and begins breaking open more shells and popping the meat into his mouth.

"So Peeta doesn't get jealous?" Finnick asks me, reverting back to our previous conversation.

"Nope." I pop another piece of shellfish into my mouth. "Possessive, maybe. Especially when we're in the Capitol."

A light shines in Finnick's eyes. A haunted, very knowing light. I don't understand, but I don't question him. "I could understand why," he eventually says.

Our conversation is over after that, and both of us content ourselves with mutual tasks. Finnick keeps cracking open shellfish, and it might be my imagination, but it seems that he's using a bit more force than he was previously. What about our conversation bothered him? I busy myself with letting down my hair and running my fingers through it. The action causes it to thin out considerably, the fog having damaged it. As I braid it back, I entertain the thought of waking Peeta. I know that he needs his rest, and I'm hesitant to wake him, but he needs to eat something and the shellfish are better fresh.

Absently, I scratch at my itching skin. "You know, if you scratch you'll bring on infection," Finnick tells me smartly, speaking for the first time since our conversation abruptly ended.

"So I've heard," I mutter. Now that he's pointed out the itching, it quickly becomes unbearable, and it's all I can think about. It reminds me of when I was really young and had the chicken pox. My mother had me wear some of my father's gloves so my fingernails wouldn't do much damage. Well, I have no gloves now, and the urge to scratch is overpowering. After ten minutes of intense internal struggle, I break.

I get to my feet, look up balefully at the sky, and shout, "Hey Haymitch! If you're not too drunk, we could use something for our skin!"

The words are hardly out of my mouth before I see a silver parachute floating down toward me. Well, that's great Haymitch. Glad to see you could've sent this so much sooner, apparently. Sometimes, I wonder if he really cares about me. "Love you, too, Haymitch," I mutter under my breath, not caring if the Capitol's microphones pick me up. Let them see the bond I have with my mentor. Let them see how they're ripping my family apart.

Attached to the parachute is a tube of ointment. I grab it and unscrew the cap. My nose crinkles at the foul smell that immediately reaches my nostrils. Tar and pine needles. Odd combination and yet extremely potent. The ointment itself is a charcoal color, and I stare at it dubiously for a moment before squeezing out a small glob in my palm and then rubbing it into my leg. The sigh of pleasure that escapes me is involuntary. Like most Capitol remedies, the effects are immediate. Where the ointment has touched my skin, I no longer itch. It's wonderful.

Less wonderful is the sickly greenish-grey color it turns my scab-ridden skin. Oh, well. I'd rather be itch-free than pretty. Unlike Finnick, who is eyeing my ghastly-colored skin dubiously. "It looks like you're decomposing," he says distastefully, grimacing.

I toss the tube to him anyway, knowing that the rampant itching will win out over his desire to stay pretty. Finnick caves within thirty seconds and begins to slather his skin in the ointment. I can't help but laugh at the pained expression on his face. "Poor Finnick," I tease. "Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?" Honestly, the combination of the scabs and the ointment is horrifyingly hideous. We look like the walking dead.

"It must be," Finnick retorts. "The sensation is so incredibly foreign. How have you managed it all these years?"

I shrug. "Avoid mirrors. You'll get used to it."

"Not if I keep looking at you."

We busy ourselves with coating our skin in the ointment, taking turns rubbing it into each other's backs where our undershirts leave us unprotected. "I'm going to wake Peeta," I say as I stand.

"Wait, let's do it together," Finnick says with a mischievous smile. "Put our faces right in front of his."

I can't help but smile wickedly at the idea. I love scaring Peeta. His reactions are so funny. I nod my head quickly in agreement, and Finnick and I position ourselves so that our faces are hovering right above Peeta's, barely two inches of space between our faces and his.

"Peeta," I say in a soft, singsong voice, unable to keep myself from lightly trailing my fingers up his arm. "Time to wake up, Peeta."

Peeta's eyelids flutter open lazily, but immediately widen comically. "Gah!" He shuffles backward quickly, breathing heavily, trying to get his bearings.

Finnick and I have already collapsed in a fit of laughter, holding our stomachs. It feels good to laugh, considering everything I've been through the past twenty four hours. Peeta tries to keep a disdainful expression on his face, but it's a losing battle as his lips begin to quirk up in a smile. Eventually, he chuckles, though he eyes me with a look that says he only puts up with me because he loves me. I just smirk.

Just then, another parachute drops down from the sky, landing right beside Finnick. Attached to the chute is a loaf of bread, and by the green tint of the loaf I know that it's from District 4. Finnick turns over the bread in his hands in an oddly possessive way, but maybe I'm looking too much into things. Maybe he just realizes how precious it is. But all he says in reaction to its arrival is, "This will go nicely with the shellfish."

Peeta looks me from head to toe. "Going for a new look?"

"Ha. Ha," I deadpan before moving to sit behind him in order to rub the ointment into his shoulders. "It's for the itching," I explain. "Now you can be as ugly as me and Finnick."

Truly, we all look ghastly. The ointment has caused some of the scabs to peel, but I'm grateful for the medicine, not only for eradicating the itching but because it provides at least some protection from the hot sun. I guess that it's around ten o'clock, so we've been in the arena for about a day . . . and what a day it's turned out to be. Eleven dead. Thirteen alive.

Finnick, Peeta, and I eat the sweet shellfish with the salty bread and drink tons of water, making multiple trips back to the tree to refill our bowls. I make sure to stay as hydrated as I can, and I'm feeling much better about myself and the baby now that I've eaten and have a steady source of water. Now, I just have to avoid being killed by a tribute or a mutt.

I end up sitting in between Finnick and Peeta, an arrangement that I'm sure is not coincidence, but I can't find it within myself to be annoyed by their overprotectiveness—if there is such a thing when in the arena. I expect this from Peeta, but I'm mildly surprised by Finnick. Despite his accusation that I will one day be fat—I scowl—he really seems to care about me. And I know it's not because of my future involvement in the rebellion. Finnick doesn't strike me as the kind of man who follows blindly. Maybe he sees me as family, too.

I'm torn from my thoughts when I hear a scream. All three of our heads turn toward the direction of the sound. A wedge of the arena appears to be swallowed by a great wave of water that descends from the top of the slope with a roar toward the sea, drowning everything and everyone in its path. The wave hits the sea with such force, that despite being as far away from the wave as we can be, the surf still rises to our knees before retreating back, taking some of our possessions with it. However, between the three of us, we manage to snag everything before it's too far out to sea. Well, except our jumpsuits, but they're worthless anyway.

The cannon fires twice. Two more dead. Only eleven left now, eight of which are lurking in the jungle. Three of those tributes are Careers. I hope that Beetee and Wiress are still alive and that the two cannon shots we just heard weren't them. And where's Johanna? Despite the fact that she makes me uneasy and I still resent her for the 'posing nude' comment, I don't want her to die. Especially since she said that my child would be a fighter. I don't know why exactly, but that means a lot to me, coming from her.

I glance back behind me at the jungle. What I thought was a safe place is turning out to be a death trap. I know that eventually we'll have to move back into its depths and face its horrors, to either hunt or be hunted, but at the moment I'm perfectly content sitting on this little narrow strip of beach. Judging by the fact that neither Finnick nor Peeta has suggested that we move, I don't think they want to face the jungle either. Fine with me.

My eyes threaten to close as I lean my head on Peeta's shoulder. He has such nice shoulders. Nice and strong and broad and . . . pillow-like. Good pillow. Another thing about being pregnant. I tire quicker and sometimes nothing sounds better than a nap. This is one of those times.

I must not have drifted off for more than five minutes before I'm awakened by Peeta. "What?" I ask, slightly irritated that my respite was so brief. Peeta doesn't answer, placing a hand at the small of my back and steering me toward the jungle. Realizing that something is amiss, I don't ask anymore questions. We don't go far into the greenery, just far enough so that we can't be seen.

"What are they?" Peeta asks, his eyes trained on something in the distance.

I follow his gaze and see three figures stumbling around on the beach two spokes over. They're coated in a dark red, almost a rust color from head to toe. One of the figures is turning absently in slow circles, while a second is dragging the third onto the beach.

"Mutts, maybe?" I reply as I eye the trio. I begin to load an arrow, but I pause when the one being dragged collapses. The dragger stomps the ground in frustration and in a fit of temper shoves the one spinning in loopy circles to the ground.

Finnick and I arrive at the same conclusion at the same time. "Johanna!"

"Finnick!"

Finnick takes off running toward them, but Peeta and I take our time. "How are you today?" he asks softly. "Tired?"

"More than I should be," I reply with a huff of frustration. "It's annoying."

Peeta doesn't say anything. He simply takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. I love the fact that he knows when to shut up. His words can be so soothing and comforting, but there are times when I don't want to hear them. Like now. And I don't want it to appear to the Capitol that I'm more susceptible to their tricks. I don't want them to think that I'm weak just because I'm pregnant. If anything, I'm stronger and more determined than ever to live. I'm just as dangerous this year as I was last year.

My eyes focus on Johanna's two companions. "It's Wiress and Beetee."

"One of them doesn't look so good," Peeta notes and I leave his side to rush to Beetee, who still hasn't moved from his position lying face down in the sand.

As I kneel beside him and begin to look him over, I listen to Johanna speak rapidly to Finnick, "We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood—thick, hot blood. You couldn't see. You couldn't speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That's when Blight hit the force field."

"I'm sorry, Johanna," Finnick says, as I try to place Blight. No picture comes to mind. I don't even think he came to any of the training.

"Yeah, well, he wasn't much, but he was from home," Johanna shrugs. "And he left me alone with these two," she says nudging Beetee with her shoe.

I bite my tongue to keep from snapping at her. An even angrier Johanna Mason is the last thing I need to deal with, and Beetee requires my attention. "He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia," Johanna continues. "And her . . ."

I glance up to see Wiress, who's still spinning in dazed circles, murmuring, "Tick, tock. Tick, tock."

"Yeah, yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock," Johanna says snidely. This seems to send Wiress stumbling into Johanna, who shoves her violently to the ground. "Just say down, will you?"

"Lay off her," I snap, jumping to my feet, unable to keep quiet this time.

Johanna turns on me, anger making her brown eyes seem black. "Lay off her?" she hisses at me, but I don't flinch. "Why you—" Johanna raises her hand as if to slap me, but Peeta and Finnick interfere. Peeta steps in front of me as Finnick throws a now screaming Johanna over his shoulder and then tosses her into the sea, where he continues to dunk her underwater as she yells insults at me.

I ignore her.

"Peeta, can you take Beetee?" I ask and Peeta nods as he carefully picks up Beetee and carries him back to our little camp.

I go over to Wiress, who is sitting in the sand. "Tick, tock. Tick, tock."

"Wiress?" I kneel down beside her and gently take her arm. "Can you come with me?"

Wiress doesn't answer, but she doesn't fight me when I pull her to her feet and lead her back to camp. She's caked in a thick layer of blood, so I sit her in the shallows. The change doesn't affect Wiress, she just keeps murmuring, "tick, tock" every few minutes so I decide that she can hang out in the water on her own for a little while. I turn my attention to Beetee. Peeta has already unhooked Beetee's belt and I notice a heavy, coil of wire tied to it with a rope of vine. Wire. _The_ wire. The wire that is somehow our salvation and the key to breaking out of the arena.

Peeta and I exchange loaded a look before we realize where we are. We can't afford to let the Capitol know that anything is amiss. I have to come up with a reason as to why the sight of the wire made such an impression on me. "I bet that's what he went to the Cornucopia for," I say. "Didn't he win his Games with a wire?"

Peeta nods. "Yeah. He set up an electrical trap." Peeta holds up the wire. "Maybe he was hoping to do the same thing this time around."

That's a solid excuse for our notice of the wire. Peeta and I don't linger on the subject. Attending to Beetee is much more important, but his suit is so caked with blood that it's adhered to his skin. We move him into the water, and after a few minutes we manage to get his jumpsuit off him. That's when we find that his underclothes are just as soaked with blood, so we have no choice but to strip him naked. The situation reminds me of last year in the arena when I had to strip Peeta naked because he was so caked with mud. However, unlike last year, the idea of a naked man doesn't bother me. Maybe it's because of all the naked men I've seen on my mother's kitchen table this year. You just kind of get used to it.

But I still can't deny that I'd much rather be stripping Peeta naked than Beetee.

We lay Beetee on one of Finnick's grass mats and examine the wound on his back. It's not near as bad as the gash on Peeta's thigh that I had to deal with last year. Beetee's cut is about six inches long, stretching from his right shoulder to below his ribs. It's deep, though, still oozing blood. And judging by the pallor of Beetee's skin, he's lost a lot of blood already. What can I use to staunch the blood flow?

Moss. I remember the handful Mags had given me to blow my nose. It's absorbent and soft and just what I need. I look up at Peeta, "I'll be right back."

I dart into the jungle before he can protest. I'm not being reckless. Besides, I can take care of myself, and I have my bow with me. I don't have to go far to search for the moss anyway. It seems to be a rather prolific plant, and in no time I have a handful of the stuff.

Peeta shoots me a disapproving look when I plop down next to Beetee, but I ignore him. I make a thick pad out of the moss and then cover Beetee's wound, securing the dressing with vines. Together, we move Beetee into the shade and get some water into him. "I think that's all we can do," I say.

"You're better at healing than you give yourself credit for," Peeta tells me, but I scoff. "Hey, you kept me from dying. Twice."

I roll my eyes. "I'm going to take care of Wiress."

Wiress is still sitting in the shallows where I left her. She doesn't resist when I take off her jumpsuit or her underclothes and begin to wash the blood from her skin. But her eyes do begin to reflect more and more fear, her murmurings of "tick, tock" becoming filled with urgency. I know that she's trying to tell me something, but without Beetee to translate, I'm at a loss. So I simply reply, "Yes. Tick, tock. Tick, tock."

This seems to calm Wiress and she goes back to her soft murmurings. I'm eventually able to wash the vast majority of the blood out of her jumpsuit and underclothes, and I gently ease her back into them. I buckle her belt around her waist, thinking that it provides at least some protection. I lead her back to camp, and sit her beside Peeta, who offers her some water that she gulps greedily. Satisfied that Wiress is taken care of, I return to the water and begin to clean Beetee's jumpsuit. I've just about finished eradicating every drop of blood from his jumpsuit when Johanna and Finnick reappear.

Johanna is shiny and clean and immediately plops down onto the sand and begins to drink water and feast on the tasty shellfish. I try and coax Wiress to eat with mild success while Finnick tells of our battles with the fog and the monkeys in an oddly detached voice, leaving out the most important detail.

Everyone offers to take watch to allow the others to rest, but in the end it's Johanna and I. Me, because I'm so well rested. Johanna simply doesn't want to sleep, despite having barely gotten an hour's worth since the Games started. I have no idea how she's still going. We sit side by side in silence for the longest time before Johanna speaks. "So how did you lose Mags?"

I frown at the reminder, hugging my knees to my chest. "In the fog." Memories of our run from the acid mist flit through my mind. The fact that I would have left Peeta to die to save myself will always cause me pain. And I will never forget the image of Mags running headlong into the fog before collapsing as the convulsions took over her body. "Finnick had Peeta," I continue, my voice soft. "I had Mags for awhile, but then I couldn't lift her. My legs weren't working, and Finnick said that he couldn't carry them both. She kissed him and ran right into the poison."

"She was Finnick's mentor you know," Johanna says harshly. "She was half his family."

"I'm sorry," I say, cursing the tears that enter my eyes. Damn hormones.

"Oh, don't cry on me," Johanna complains in aggravation. "I can't stand tears."

I snort as I wipe them away. "Neither can I," I reply. "But I can't really control them anymore."

It might be my imagination, but I think Johanna's face softens slightly. We're silent for a few more minutes, but in my mind I'm still running from the fog. Everything is so clear. The desperation I felt to get away and then the despair when I realized that I had to leave Peeta. My worst nightmare coming to fruition. I can't help but glance behind me, my eyes immediately finding Peeta and making sure that his chest still rises and falls.

"What else happened in there?" Johanna asks. She's more perceptive than I thought.

"What almost happened," I correct, before a shaky sigh escapes me. I turn to look at Johanna, studying her for a moment, wondering whether I'm going to answer her question fully. While I may not like Johanna, I do respect her. We're alike, in a way. Both of us carry a fiery determination that deserves to be acknowledged, and I don't see Johanna playing by anyone's rules but her own.

"At first, I wasn't carrying Mags," I tell her. "Finnick was, and I was running with Peeta. But he'd hit the force field—"

"He survived?" Johanna interrupts, and I shake my head sadly, a tear sliding down my cheek.

"No." My voice is soft. "He didn't. It took Finnick nearly five minutes to bring him back."

"Must have been scary."

"I can't remember being scared. I guess I was. All I knew for sure was that Peeta was dead, and my heart felt as though it had shattered into tiny pieces."

Johanna looks uncomfortable at my admission, so I swallow and get back to the story. "Anyway, Peeta was weak from the force field, so we weren't moving near as fast as we needed to be. The fog, it targeted our nervous systems. My arms started to spasm, but Peeta's legs gave out. He couldn't run anymore, and there was no way I could carry him . . ."

"So you had to leave him," Johanna finishes. "To save yourself."

"To save the baby," I correct, before turning away from her and gazing out at the sea, watching the bright light of the sun reflect off the water. "I love Peeta more than I ever thought possible . . . but I love our baby more." I return my gaze to Johanna, and she seems to be listening to me intently. "It makes me feel guilty. I love them both so much. And Peeta's no help at all," I add with a sad laugh as I wipe away another tear that's escaped me.

"He does have a noble streak," Johanna says, and though she says it in a distasteful way, I see the begrudging admiration in her eyes. "Let me guess, he doesn't mind dying to save you and the kid?"

"Not a bit," I answer with a sad smile, my hand finding my stomach. "But Finnick showed up at the last second. He saved Peeta, and, well, you know the rest."

Johanna and I fall into silence once more and I can't help but reflect on our conversation. I wonder of the reaction it got from the Capitol. It irks me that they're probably swooning over my words about the baby and Peeta, but at the same time feeling anguished that I almost had to choose between the two people I love most. Fickle people. But I still hope that they see my plight and question the Capitol. I hope that they question a regime that will send a pregnant woman to her death.

"Why'd you let yourself get knocked up?" Johanna asks, sounding angry and confused. "Not even a Victor's kid is safe from the reaping. And your kid? The kid of the star-crossed lovers from District 12? Bet they'd get reaped right when they turned twelve. Too good of an opportunity to pass up. See if the kiddo is as deadly as mom and dad."

There's the derisive Johanna Mason I know.

"I know," I reply. My respect for Johanna just soared, despite the fact that she just demeaned me. What she just accused the Capitol of isn't supposed to be acknowledged, and certainly not in a place like the Hunger Games. She's got guts. "Peeta and I discussed it, and I didn't want kids in the first place. I never have. I couldn't bear to see them reaped and be unable to volunteer. No parent should be forced to watch their child die."

"Safe to say the little guy wasn't planned?" Johanna guesses.

"Definitely a surprise." I rub my stomach. "A very, very scary surprise."

Johanna lets the subject drop, apparently having received her answers, but our silence doesn't last long.

"Tick, tock," I hear from behind me and both of us turn to see Wiress crawling toward us.

"Oh, great, Nuts is back," Johanna complains. "I'm going to sleep. You two watch."

Johanna gets up and then flops down onto the ground beside Finnick. I guide Wiress to lie in front of me and soothingly rub her arm. She falls into a restless sleep, occasionally murmuring, "Tick, tock."

I frown. Tick, tock. What does Wiress mean? Obviously, she thinks it's important, and if someone as smart as Wiress thinks that something is important, I'm inclined to believe her. What could she mean, though? Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Suddenly, a great bolt of lightning cracks in the sky, hitting the massive tree that seems to tower above all the others in the arena. Just like last night, the lightning storm begins, right in the same wedge of the arena. I think back. The bell tolled twelve times and then the lightning began. Like it was midnight. And now, with the sun overhead, like it's noon. Lightning.

Tick, tock.

"Tick, tock," Wiress whispers, and suddenly I understand her.

I get to my feet and spin in a slow circle, eyeing each and every section of the arena. The lightning in one wedge and next to it would be the blood rain, where Johanna, Wiress, and Beetee were trapped. Peeta, Finnick, and I would have been in the third wedge, where the fog chased us. And then as soon as the fog disappeared, the monkeys came. Tick, tock.

And then at about ten o' clock, there was that giant wave. My head snaps toward that direction. Tick, tock. The lightning storm ceases and the rain begins in the next section. Tick, tock.

It all makes sense.

"Tick, tock. This is a clock."

* * *

**Well, there you go! Hope you enjoyed the little extra with Johanna and Katniss. They're quite a pair, don't ya think?**

**So, in summary for this chapter: Finnick tells Katniss she'll get fat and plays in the water with Johanna, Katniss plays "Doctor" and gets hormonal after a heart to heart with Johanna, Johanna is continuing to pretend she doesn't have a heart in the first place but we all know she does, Wiress finally got Katniss to guess her hint for Catchphrase, Beetee is down but not out, and Peeta's shoulders are incredibly good pillows.  
**

**Quote from _Come Rain or Come Shine_ comes from . . . Gale!  
**

**"I can see it in your eyes, Katniss. Half of you isn't here, and I know it's because of him. I'm not even going to pretend that I understand what you have with Peeta because I don't got a clue. But I do know that you can only live with half of yourself for so long."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Well, we're here for another update! Friday is upon us again . . . THANK GOD. **

**Well, I'm officially on break and have been since noon Monday. I've spent the rest of this week just relaxing and enjoying the knowledge that I kept my 4.0 for my first semester of college. However, rest assured that starting next week I am immersing myself in _Come Rain or Come Shine_. I expect I might have ten or so chapters left of that one. Boy, I absolutely cannot wait to rewrite the ending. Oh, the many plans I have!  
**

**And yes, I know the quotes I'm giving you have your heads spinning with ideas as to what will befall Peeta and Katniss in CROCS. All I can say is . . . don't jump to conclusions. In this case, the obvious answer is not the truth. I won't lie and say that Peeta is going to be frolicking in a field of flowers happy as can be. In fact, it'll be quite the opposite sometimes and Katniss is just gonna be plain miserable. And yet I promise that despite all of the suffering that they'll both go through, their love will be as strong as ever, however tenuous it may seem at times. That is probably what makes CROCS the most heartbreaking. I honestly hope that at some parts during CROCS you will absolutely loathe me. I'll be the first to admit I'm quite evil to PK in CROCS. However, never fear. You just gotta trust me. ;)  
**

**And now that all of you are in _such_ a good mood, let's get back to the current story.  
**

**So, this chapter is a lot of fun for various reasons. I think you might just find a little fluff for PK (yes, I managed!) and of course a really badass moment for Katniss. She may be preggers, but she's still the Girl on Fire!  
**

**Movie quote for the day comes from _Star Trek_ . . . the blooper reel . . .  
**

**"Spock, I look forward to the destruction of your planet and every planet around it. You will die. Your people will die. J.J. Abrams will die . . . You will ALL die." - Nero a.k.a a very well made-over Eric Bana  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."; "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"; "My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men."; "Spock, I look forward to the destruction of your planet and every planet around it. You will die. Your people will die. J.J. Abrams will die . . . you will ALL die."  
**

* * *

Chapter 32

Tick, tock. It's a clock. I can see it in my mind, the twelve wedges that make up the arena, with the lightning at midnight. The wedge to the right, the blood rain, is one o'clock to two o'clock. The next wedge, two o'clock to three o'clock, is the fog. And then three 'o clock to four o'clock is the monkeys. Then there's the wave, which is at ten o'clock. Every hour brings a new horror. As one ends, another begins.

But do the individual horrors confine themselves to the jungle? Not necessarily. The wave at ten eclipsed its entire wedge, all the way to the sea. The blood rain is still falling, and we're on the wedge below the monkey segment, which is much too close to the fog for my liking. And if the monkeys come back . . .

"Get up!" I shake Peeta awake first, though I don't really need to. He was awake the moment I spoke. Wordlessly, he begins to help me wake the others. "Get up! We need to move!"

Johanna and Finnick both wake and reach for their weapons, thinking that there's a threat. However, when they quickly look around and see nothing trying to kill them, they look at me with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

"And why should we do that?" Johanna asks.

"The arena's a clock," I explain. "It's what Wiress was going on about. Tick, tock. It's a clock. Think about it. The twelve tolls last night. Midnight. And then right after that the lightning storm began and then after that the blood rain. Just like clockwork. Every hour something new starts." I continue to explain myself, and by the time I've finished, everyone believes me.

But Johanna will never admit that I'm right about anything, despite our rather emotional discussion only an hour before. Her excuse for agreeing to move is, "Better safe than sorry."

I don't mind. It's Johanna being Johanna.

We collect our supplies and Peeta helps Beetee back into his jumpsuit. I shake Wiress awake, and she immediately says, "Tick, tock!"

"Yes," I soothe. "Tick, tock. It's a clock. The arena is a clock. You were right."

Relief floods Wiress's face, someone finally having figured out what she was trying to get across. I bet she's known that the arena was a clock for a long time. Probably the minute she heard the bell toll. "Midnight," she says, and I nod.

"It starts at midnight," I confirm, and am immediately swept up in a memory.

Dancing at the Capitol at the end of the Victory Tour with Plutarch Heavensbee. His mysterious gold pocketwatch with the vanishing mockingjay. _It starts at midnight_. He'd given me a clue. But to what purpose? Surely he hadn't known that I'd be a tribute in the Games, not yet anyway. Maybe since he thought I would mentor?

I shake my head clear of these retrospective thoughts. They don't matter right now. I help Wiress up and she points toward the blood rain. "One-thirty," she says.

"Yes, and a terrible fog starts at two," I tell her. "We're going someplace safe now."

Wiress smiles and follows me obediently. I offer her some water and she drinks nearly a quart and eats a handful of shellfish, much more than I was able to coax her to eat only a few hours ago. Her inability to communicate has now been resolved so she's functional again.

I check my weapons and place the spile and the ointment in a parachute and then tie it back to my belt. Beetee is still hovering on the precarious ledge of unconsciousness and consciousness, but when Peeta tries to lift him, he objects. "Wire."

"She's right here," Peeta assures him. "Wiress is fine. She's coming, too."

Peeta, you're too much of a romantic. However, I still can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips as I pick up the coil of wire from the ground and place it in Beetee's hands. "There you go, Beetee," I say before looking up at Peeta, a smirk playing at my lips.

"Not a word," Peeta orders, but I can see that he's fighting a smile. He picks up a now nonresistant Beetee and asks, "Where to?"

"The Cornucopia," Finnick suggests. "To watch. Just to make sure we're right about the clock."

No one sees anything wrong with the plan, so we all begin to walk toward the golden horn-shaped structure gleaming brightly in the sunlight. It's like a beacon, drawing us in. I see it as a good opportunity to look over the weapons again. Maybe we might find something.

We approach the Cornucopia with care, despite the obvious sense of abandonment that surrounds the structure. The last thing we need is to be caught off guard by three Careers. However, the little island appears empty, except for us, so we all relax just a little bit and busy ourselves with mutual tasks. Finnick and Johanna begin to scour the remaining weapons, and Johanna whoops in triumph when she excavates a pair of deadly axes from the pile. I watch as she hurls one toward the Cornucopia, kind of like a warm-up exercise. The axe embeds itself into the Cornucopia, denting the golden metal.

I'm glad that Johanna is not my enemy.

Peeta sets Beetee down in a small blip of shade provided by the Cornucopia, and then asks Wiress to take the coil of wire and wash it off since it's soaked in congealed blood. Wiress nods happily in reply and skips to the water's edge where she repeatedly dunks the coil in the water. She begins to sing a cute little song about a mouse running up a clock. It must be for children, but Wiress doesn't seem to care. It makes her happy.

"Oh, not the song again," Johanna complains with a tortured groan. "That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking."

Suddenly, Wiress stops her song and abruptly stands. "Two," she announces, pointing toward a wedge of the arena.

We all follow her pointing finger and see the deadly, poisonous fog creeping out onto the beach. Wiress was right. It's two o' clock and the fog has started. "Like clockwork," Peeta murmurs as he gazes at the fog. "You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress," he adds, but by his voice you can tell that his mind is elsewhere.

Our eyes meet and I know that we're thinking about the same thing. How long will the memory of deciding to leave Peeta to save myself haunt me? Guilt floods me, despite the fact that I know I'd made the right decision, and that just makes it worse. How could abandoning Peeta ever be right? Peeta, as if sensing my turmoil, takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't begrudge me for my decision. We both know who is the most important between us. The baby. Everything is about the baby now. Every decision we make.

Peeta breaks eye contact first, and my gaze finds the sand beneath my feet.

Wiress begins to sing again, happy as she can be, dunking the coil of wire in the water. "Oh, she's more than smart," Beetee chimes. He appears to be coming back to life. "She's intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines."

"What's that?" Finnick asks.

"It's a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there's bad air," I explain.

"What does it do? Die?" Johanna snorts, and my lips purse in a thin line as I choke back a sarcastic retort.

"It stops singing first," I say. "That's when you should get out. But if the air is too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you."

I don't like all this talk about death. The mention of the mines reminds me of Gale, and how he's trapped miles underground in a deathtrap that took away both our fathers. A place where 'accidents happen.' Although Snow seems to have focused his murderous intentions on me and Peeta, the subtle threat he left before the Victory Tour, concerning Gale and my family, Peeta's too, still lurks in the back of my mind.

A hand reaches up and takes mine, tugging me toward the ground. I look down and see that Peeta has settled on the sand, a large, green leaf lying in front of him, one of his knives resting beside it. I sit beside him, but that's not what Peeta wants. With what seems like very little effort, he picks me up and sits me in his lap. My back rests comfortably against his solid chest and his strong arms wrap around me as he picks up the leaf and begins to draw twelve sections with the tip of his knife. His chin rests on my shoulder as he works, and I can't help but think that it's like Peeta has completely enveloped me, protecting me with his body. I don't know if it's a conscious action or not, but I can't deny the feeling of safety his embrace brings me.

I watch as he draws his own map of the arena. There's a circle in the center that represents the Cornucopia with each spoke projecting out from it, creating the twelve wedges of the arena. It looks like a pie. He draws two other circles, one to represent the water line and another to represent the beginning of the jungle. Next, he labels the wedges one through twelve.

"Look how the Cornucopia's positioned," Peeta says, our intimate position causing his breath to tickle my ear, but I ignore the fluttery feeling in my stomach and focus on his question. Nonetheless, Peeta's chest shakes with a chuckle, knowing exactly the effect he has on me. I elbow him in the ribs in retaliation, ignoring his exaggerated '_ow.'_

"The tail points toward twelve o'clock."

I can hear the smile in Peeta's voice as he replies, "Right. So this is the top of our clock. Twelve to one is the lightning zone." He writes lightning in the appropriate wedge in small, neat letters. Then he writes _blood_, _fog_, and _monkeys_ in their corresponding wedges.

"And then at ten is the wave," I point out and he writes _wave _in the ten o' clock section.

Finnick and Johanna join us. "Well, don't you two look cozy," he teases.

"Did you notice anything unusual in the others?" I ask, ignoring Finnick and looking at Johanna and Beetee. They may have seen something we haven't, but they just shake their heads. All they've seen is blood. "I guess they could hold anything."

"I'm going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers' weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we know to stay clear of those," Peeta says, making a diagonal line on the fog and wave sections. When he finishes he drops his knife in the sand and wraps both his arms around my waist. "Well, it's a lot more than we knew this morning, at least."

We all agree, but when I make the move to get to my feet, Peeta's arms tighten around my waist. "Where do you think you're going?" he asks playfully as he nuzzles my neck.

I can't help but sigh. This year in the arena is so different from our previous Games. Last year it was just Peeta and I in our cave. This year we're surrounded by others and time alone is hard to come by. I really miss our cave . . . and the sleeping bag.

"I need to see if I can find more arrows," I tell him. Despite the fact that I've managed to retrieve the majority of the ones I've shot, I like to be prepared.

"I'll go with you," Peeta offers, and I roll my eyes, turning slightly so that I can see his face.

"I'm a big girl," I remind him. "I can hunt for arrows by myself."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

The question is asked in jest, but I can't help but take it seriously. "Never," I reply, my voice soft and yet dripping with sincerity.

Peeta gives me a small smile and a quick kiss before releasing me. "Don't take too long," he teases as I walk away. "I'll get worried."

"You'll survive," I retort before beginning to search through the weapons. There's nothing much in front, mainly knives and swords that I'll never use. I make my way around the Cornucopia, searching for a glint of gold that would indicate another bow or sheath of arrows.

As I search, I can't help but think about how we're all together now. Beetee and Wiress are here with their special wire, and Johanna . . . well, I have no idea how Johanna is contributing to our escape from the arena. We're all just pieces of a puzzle. Each of us knowing different aspects of the plan so when we're put together the plan becomes one cohesive whole. Despite how frustrating it is not to know every detail, I can see the logic of separating the information. If one of us is captured—my stomach roils uncomfortably—the less we know the better. It would be better to only know part of the plan than all of it.

I glimmer of gold catches my eye, and just as I'm reaching for it the hairs on the back of my neck rise. A shift of sand. Sudden silence. I spin around just in time to see a flash of blonde hair before a hand wraps around my throat and slams me into the Cornucopia. My feet dangle off the ground, and as I gasp for breath I find myself looking into the enraged eyes of Cashmere.

My hands grasp at her arm, my fingernails biting into her skin, drawing blood, but she doesn't seem to notice. Her anger so consuming that she doesn't feel the pain. She glowers at me with such fierceness that I'm left confused. What have I done to her?

"Well, well, if it isn't Katniss Everdeen," she growls.

It might not be of much importance, considering the fact that I'm slowly passing out, but if I had the breath, I would correct her. It's _Mellark_.

As it is, all I manage is a choked, gurgling sound.

"Where's your partner?" she asks. "I guess it doesn't matter. Brutus and Enobaria are dealing with him and your friends."

A cannon sounds.

"See, your little lover killed who I cared about most," Cashmere says, and suddenly this entire situation makes sense. Peeta killed Gloss, Cashmere's brother. This is all about revenge. "So, I'm going to return the favor and kill you."

Black is beginning to seep into my peripheral vision, and I know I'm on the verge of blacking out. My oxygen deprived brain slowly computes that if I die, my baby dies. Some intense, overpowering primal instinct awakens within me and I begin to struggle harder than ever. Fruitlessly, I claw at her arm, leaving bright red, bleeding scratches, but Cashmere doesn't even blink. My arms fall and as they do, my hand brushes something cool and metal. My fingers grasp the handle.

A garbled sound escapes me. "What is that?" Cashmere taunts. "Look at you. You can't even speak."

And that's when I manage to say in a choked voice, "I got your knife."

Cashmere's eyes widen in realization and pain as I sink her knife into her abdomen. Her hand releases me, and I drop to the ground, gasping for air and tenderly touching my throat. Cashmere stumbles backward a few steps, staring at me in disbelief as her hands clutch the handle of the knife in her stomach. And then she drops to her knees and falls face forward into the sand.

A cannon sounds.

"Katniss!"

Peeta's voice is frantic, and I hear heavy footsteps rushing toward me. I whirl around and see two fleeing figures running along one of the spokes away from the Cornucopia. Brutus and Enobaria? But I hardly have time to think about that because strong arms wrap around my waist.

"Katniss, are you alright?" Peeta asks me panicked and checking me over from head to toe. "What—"

Suddenly, the ground beneath our feet jerks sharply, preventing Peeta from finishing his question. We're flung onto our sides in the sand due to the quick shift, but before we can gather our wits, the island of the Cornucopia begins to spin. Fast. So fast that everything around me is a blur and sand is flying in all directions. I dig my hands and feet into the sand, but the centrifugal force is frightening in its intensity and despite my efforts I feel myself slowly sliding back toward the water.

In a last ditch effort to keep myself on land, I reach out a hand to claw my way back toward the Cornucopia. But instead of grasping a fistful of sand, strong fingers grasp mine. I don't move forward, but I don't move back either. Between the spinning and the flying sand, I have to keep my eyes squeezed shut. All I can do is cling to Peeta's hand until without any warning, we slam to a sudden stop.

The resulting forward momentum causes me to fly a few feet to my right and collide into a rock. No, not a rock. Just a very well muscled torso that I know all too well. "Peeta," I wheeze before dissolving into a coughing fit. Peeta's shaking with his own cough beside me. I look around, trying to get my bearings.

I see Finnick and Johanna, who are coughing and queasy just like I am from our abrupt spin. Two dead bodies float in the water. One is Cashmere. The other remains a mystery for the moment. My coughing has subsided for now and I scrape the sand from my mouth, wincing at the soreness in my throat that I know isn't due to the sand. My fingers gently touch the tender flesh of my neck, knowing that it'll bruise, if it hasn't begun to already.

Peeta is sitting up beside me, his fingers still locked around mine in an iron grip. "Come on," he says, pulling me to my feet. Our first steps are a little wobbly, but we manage to make it to Johanna and Finnick.

Relief is plain on their faces when they see me. "Oh, good, you're alive," Finnick says with a tired smile. "We heard that second cannon and you were nowhere in sight." He glances at Peeta. "Took off without a thought, forget the spear Brutus threw at him."

"Yeah, thanks for blocking that," Peeta says absently before looking around. "Where's Beetee?"

Immediately, we're scanning the water. "There!" I say, pointing at a flailing figure in the water. Beetee's just managing to keep his head above water.

"I'll get him," Finnick announces before diving into the water.

That's when I remember the wire and how important it is. Where's Wiress? My eyes find the second body floating in the water. Oh, no. Not Wiress. "We've got to get the wire," I say. "Before the hovercraft takes her away."

I get up to dive into the water, but Peeta shakes his head. "I'll go," he says. "Stay here."

He doesn't wait for any reply, diving into the water and swimming out to Wiress's floating, lifeless body. My eyes don't leave his form as he cuts through the water. "She was the first cannon," Johanna tells me. "Brutus slit her throat. They surprised us. I threw an ax, but he ducked and threw that spear at Peeta. Of course, that's when the second cannon went off and we knew it wasn't any of us. He went charging after you."

"How'd District 2 get away from you and Finnick?" I ask. There's no accusation in my tone. Just genuine curiosity.

Johanna scowls, not at all happy with the reminder. "Scurried away like the cowards they are when the second cannon went off. Knew they were dead if they stayed. We started to chase them but the damn island started spinning."

Peeta is halfway back to us by now, the wire clutched in his hand. Finnick has pulled a water logged Beetee onto the beach and is gently patting his back as the older man coughs up water. Peeta emerges from the sea and goes straight to Beetee, laying the wire in his lap. Now that it's free from blood, the wire is a shiny gold, the thread itself as fine as a strand of hair. There must be miles of the stuff spun around the spool.

None of us speak. Everyone's faces are somber. Finnick, Johanna, and Beetee have all lost their district partners. The thought causes me to wrap my arms around Peeta and he holds me tightly to him. For the longest time no one says anything, but eventually it's Johanna who breaks the silence. "Let's get off this stinking island."

"Let's head for twelve o'clock," Finnick suggests, which should give us hours of safety, theoretically.

Everyone agrees and then Finnick, Johanna, and Peeta all go in separate directions. "Twelve o'clock, right?" Peeta says. "The tail points at twelve."

"Before they spun us," Finnick reminds him. "I was judging by the sun."

I frown. "The sun only tells you it's going on four, Finnick."

"I think Katniss's point is, knowing the time doesn't mean you necessarily know where four is on the clock. You might have a general idea of the direction. Unless you consider that they may have shifted the outer ring of jungle as well," Beetee says.

My point was much more basic than that, but I simply nod my head as though Beetee's articulated spiel made perfect sense to me and I've been on the same page this entire time. "Yes, so any one of these paths could lead to twelve o'clock."

Everyone surveys the arena, circling the Cornucopia, trying to figure out where twelve o'clock is. I look for the towering tree where the lightning always strikes, but there's a similar tree in each section. There's no way to tell where anything is and after five minutes we give up. "It's no use," I say. "I need water. Anyone got a good gut feeling? I never should have mentioned the clock," I add bitterly. "Now they've taken that advantage as well."

"Only temporarily," Beetee points out logically. "At ten, we'll see the wave again and be back on track."

"Yes, they can't redesign the whole arena," Peeta says, linking his fingers in mine.

"It doesn't matter," Johanna snaps impatiently. "You had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless."

Oddly enough, Johanna's response is the only one that makes me feel better. We all stand there for a moment before I randomly choose a direction and start walking, "I'm going this way."

Everyone else follows without complaint. When we reach the beach, all of us peer into the jungle, hesitant to enter its depths. Nothing threatening jumps out at us, and the only noises I hear are from the colorful birds and the wind rustling the foliage.

"Well, it must be monkey hour, and I don't see any of them in there," Peeta points out. "I'm going to try to tap a tree."

"No, it's my turn," Finnick argues.

Peeta frowns. "I'll at least watch your back."

"I'll go," I tell them. "Peeta and I can handle it."

Finnick and Johanna look like they want to protest, but I give them a look that clearly says, "I almost died, please let me have some alone time with my husband." They relent.

"Be careful," Finnick says.

Johanna scowls before plopping down onto the sand, and ordering, "Don't die."

Peeta and I don't go far, only about fifteen yards into the jungle where we spot a good tree. But Peeta doesn't immediately start carving out a hole for the spile. Instead, he leans his back against the tree and pulls me to him. I lay my head on his chest, and for a minute all I focus on is the steady beat of his heart and the security his arms provide. I feel his lips brush my hair before he gently pulls me away. Not far, but just far enough so that he can see my face. He studies me for a moment, his eyes tracing over my every feature before his gaze lowers to my neck. A frown mars his face as his fingers gently trace the bruise that is no doubt circling my flesh. His touch is so soft that it doesn't cause me any pain at all.

"I'm fine," I assure him softly, though the fact that my voice is slightly hoarse from the choking doesn't convince him. "Really."

"It's my fault," Peeta whispers, his eyes pained with guilt. "I killed Gloss, so she came after you."

Trust Peeta to ferret Cashmere's motives. Then again, emotions and people are Peeta's forte. But he's wrong on this count. "It's not your fault. Cashmere did this. Not you."

"But—"

"No," I cut him off and place my hands on either side of his face, looking him in the eyes. "It. Is. Not. Your. Fault. So quit feeling guilty."

Peeta sighs, and though he gives me a small smile, I can still see the guilt that he's trying to hide in his eyes. I don't comment though, knowing that I'll never change his mind. The subject is dropped in favor of one that will always make me smile. "I love you," he murmurs, his breath tickling my face. "Both of you."

I press my lips to his, meaning for it to be a short kiss, nothing more than a peck really, but Peeta has other plans. His hands grip my hips firmly and I'm reminded of how little I'm wearing. Furthermore, I'm reminding of how little Peeta is wearing and the thought causes my overactive hormones to flare. A fire that I'm all too familiar with ignites in my stomach, and my hands tangle in Peeta's hair. Peeta's fingers slip under my shirt, and surprisingly, the feel of his fingers caressing the smooth flesh of my stomach is what causes me to break away instead of going further. We're both breathing hard, but I reach up on my tiptoes so that my lips are right at his ear, "Tell me you weren't thinking of showing all of Panem exactly how this baby was made."

No microphone could have picked me up, so the Capitol is probably at a loss as to why Peeta is laughing. When he finally controls himself he leans down to whisper in my ear, "No. They've seen enough of you as it is," he says, looking me up and down, emphasizing how exposed I am.

I pull away from him, scowling at his possessiveness. Peeta just smirks and begins to carve a hole in the tree for the spile. Humph. Men.

While Peeta's working away at the tree, I load an arrow in my bow and stand guard. My mind drifts to thoughts of breaking out of the arena. I don't want to be in this hellhole any longer. It's time to go. I'm tired of tributes and Gamemaker weapons trying to kill me and my child. I'm tired of thinking that I might lose Peeta in one of his noble attempts to save me and the baby. Like the fog. I'm ready to break out. I'm ready to fight, however I can.

I'm imagining the look of rage on President Snow's face when we escape when I hear it—a sound that causes me to freeze and my heart to beat rapidly in my chest. A scream so full of pain and terror that it immediately causes tears to spring to my eyes. Without giving a thought to potential danger I begin running, trampling through the jungle only vaguely aware of Peeta calling after me. I have to reach her. I have to save her.

She screams again, and I force my legs to move faster. I have to reach her. My sister.

I have to save Prim.

* * *

**And another chapter down!**

**So, in summary for this chapter: Johanna and Finnick fight District 2, District 2 flees in terror, Wiress's clock stops ticking, Beetee obviously needs a floatie (and his golden wire), Katniss and Cashmere portrayed a scene from _Star Trek _(wonder if any of you caught that), Peeta played in the sand, and now Prim is in trouble. Supposedly.  
**

**Stupid Gamemakers.  
**

**Quote from _Come Rain or Come Shine_ comes from . . . Mrs. Everdeen!  
**

**"But, Katniss, you have to acknowledge the fact he might not survive. All the strength in the world can't save him, not if the Capitol decides he's of no use to them."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Alrighty, so I have a little issue to address before I start babbling. The quote I gave at the end of last chapter came from Mrs. _Everdeen_, not Mellark. I admit that when I previously posted the chapter, I had it as Mellark first. Which, well, for her to say that would mean that she's alive to speak in the first place.  
**

**And that just doesn't work.  
**

**So, for those of you who read the chapter before I caught my mistake, take a deep breath and smile. The wicked witch is dead.  
**

***cue dancing, singing munchkins*  
**

**Okay, so now that that's done, let's move on! This is a long-awaited chapter by many, I think. The jabberjays! I hope you like what I did with the scene and the scene that follows. And, might I just say that a character might surprise you this chapter. I know I was surprised when I wrote it.  
**

**Movie quote of the day comes from . . . _Robin Hood: Men in Tights_.  
**

**"Master Robin . . . AH! . . . you lost your arms in battle! Oh, how terrible . . . but you grew some nice boobs!" - Blinkin  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."; "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"; "My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men."; "Spock, I look forward to the destruction of your planet and every planet around it. You will die. Your people will die. J.J. Abrams will die . . . you will ALL die."; "Master Robin . . . AH! . . . you lost your arms in battle! Oh, how terrible . . . but you grew some nice boobs!"**

* * *

Chapter 33

"Prim!" I plow through the jungle, heedless of any dangers. All that matters is getting to Prim. Vines cut my skin as I run right through them. Creepers try to trip me up at every step. Sweat stings my healing wounds from the fog. I'm panting, breathing in the humid air that's threatening to suffocate me.

Prim screams again, a terrible, agonized sound. "Prim!" Another scream. What are they doing to her? "Prim!"

I finally break through the constricting foliage and emerge into a little clearing. I hear Prim scream again, her voice so full of agony and terror. What could they be doing to her to evoke such a sound? "Prim!" I cry, my eyes searching frantically for my little sister.

I hear her scream again, and the sound is coming from right above me. Wait, what? Above me? My eyes look up into the branches of the tree nearest me and that's when I see it. Perched on a limb, ruffling its feathers, is a jabberjay. I watch as it opens its beak and then Prim's scream pierces the air.

In the next second the jabberjay is falling to the ground, my arrow having pierced its throat. I stare at the dead bird at my feet. A jabberjay, a muttation used by the Capitol in the Dark Days. Able to mimic the human voice, recording whole conversations. Or, in this case, my sister's screams. I continue to examine it. It looks nothing like a muttation. It resembles an ordinary bird. I conjure a picture of a mockingbird in my head and fuse it with the jabberjay at my feet. Yes, I can see how they mated to make my mockingjay.

Nonetheless, I pick the bird up and toss it into the jungle.

_It wasn't real,_ I tell myself. _It's not real. It was just a jabberjay. Prim is safe. She's at home. Not here._

"Katniss!"

Peeta bounds into the clearing and finds me placing my used arrow back in my quiver. "It's alright," I assure him. "I'm fine. I thought I heard Prim but—"

I'm cut off by another scream, but it's not Prim. This scream obviously belongs to a young man, his normally playful voice filled with agony. It's Rye. Peeta's face drains of color, but I manage to grab his arm before he dashes away toward his brother's screams.

"Peeta!"

I'm standing in front of him, my feet planted firmly in the ground as I keep him from moving forward. I know that if he truly wanted to, he could plow right through me, but he won't. Because that would hurt me, and that's the one thing that Peeta, no matter what state he's in, is incapable of doing. Still, I feel the strain of his muscles as they plead with him to run forward.

I wrap my arms around his neck, taking it as a good sign when Peeta's hands settle at my hips, despite the fact that his grip is so tight it will probably bruise. That doesn't matter, though. I whisper soothingly in his ear, "It's not him, Peeta. It's a jabberjay. It's not Rye. He's back at the bakery, telling really bad jokes. You know how he is. It's not him. He's safe. It's not him." I flinch as a particularly harsh cry pierces the air.

"Katniss." My name slips from his lips in a strangled plea.

"It's not Rye," I soothe. "It's a jabberjay, I promise. Trust me."

Peeta's grip on my hips relaxes a little, and I pull back to look at his tear-filled eyes. "Trust me," I repeat, holding his gaze. "It's a jabberjay. It's just a trick. It's not real."

"Jabberjays mimic what they hear, Katniss," he reminds me. "Where did they get those screams?"

Horror fills me as I understand his meaning. No, Prim and Rye may not be the ones screaming now, but at one point they were. How else could the jabberjays know what sound to produce? To torture us with? A terrible image congeals in my mind. Prim in a bright white room, strapped to a stainless steel table as President Snow hovers over her, a large, menacing knife in his hand. Prim struggling fruitlessly to get free and avoid the knife's decent . . .

"You don't think—" My voice cracks. "You don't think they . . ."

"I don't know." Peeta closes his eyes tightly, trying to think of an explanation. I wait impatiently for his brilliant mind to come up with an excuse. A reason why the jabberjays are mimicking our loved one's screams. A reason that doesn't involve them having elicited the screams themselves.

"They're not real," Peeta finally says as his eyes open. "The Capitol probably just took a recording of their voices, like in an interview or something, and then edited it to make it sound like a scream."

I soak in his explanation, seeing the logic in it and the probability. The Capitol had technology that we in District 12 can't fathom. It makes perfect sense that they could have a device, or some computer program that could produce the screams we're hearing now. Beetee would probably know.

"Right," I agree. "You're right. They're not real."

And just then, Gale's pained cry echoes in the air. Automatically, I make to move toward the sound, but Peeta's grip on my hips stops me. "Remember, it's not real, Katniss," Peeta tells me. He is now the one soothing me. "It's not real. Just a jabberjay."

And then I hear Prim scream. Peeta flinches, but takes my hand. "Come on, let's get out of here," he says as he begins to walk back the way we came, towing me along after him.

But it doesn't take long for our pace to go from a stumbling walk to a blind sprint. We're being chased away by the screams of our loved ones. Peeta and I flee what we can't fight. This must be the four to five o'clock wedge. The monkeys go home and the jabberjays come out to play.

I see Finnick and Johanna standing a few yards away from us, and it irks me that they're just standing there, doing nothing to help, although there's nothing that can be done. Peeta and I are just at the jungle's edge when we hit a barrier. Not a force field, but a solid barrier. Like one made of thick glass. I crumple to the ground, my shoulder aching from the impact with the glass. Peeta is on the ground beside me, muttering curses as he cradles his left arm. But that's when I see that it's not his arm that is hurt, it's his shoulder. And judging by the unnatural position, it's dislocated.

Finnick and Johanna pound on the glass, but their axes and knives don't even scratch it. I see Beetee solemnly shake his head out of the corner of my eye. Peeta and I are trapped in here until the hour passes, but I can't focus on that right now. I have to focus on Peeta and his injury.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it . . ." Peeta mutters heatedly under his breath. He's sat up by now, leaning against a tree. His eyes are closed tightly, his face twisted in pain.

"Peeta." He opens his eyes immediately and manages to give me a pained smile.

"Don't worry," he says. "Regrettably, this has happened before."

"Why do I get the feeling Rye was involved?" I ask, trying to distract him from the pain.

"Because he was." Peeta chuckles but then sucks in a deep breath as the action aggravates his shoulder. "Ow, fuck!" he groans before looking at me. "Sorry."

I roll my eyes. "I've heard worse from you." One f-bomb is tame compared to what I heard last year in the arena when I had to roll him to the stream in order to clean all the mud off him. This was after he'd camouflaged himself into the bank of the stream after being cut by Cato. "Truly, it was the most colorful, creative cursing I have ever heard."

"Glad you were impressed," Peeta mutters before hissing in pain, spewing another string of profanity. He truly doesn't curse often, and only deems it appropriate when in pain or extremely angry. Like now. "Okay, you're going to have to shove it back into place, alright?"

My eyes widen. "But won't that hurt more?"

Peeta chuckles without humor. "Oh, you have no idea. But I'll feel better afterward. I promise."

"But what if—"

"Katniss, just do it," he interrupts sharply. "Please."

I feel my jaw set in determination, and I give him a curt nod. Peeta's being strong. I need to be, too. We're a team. Still, my hands are trembling when I touch Peeta's shoulder. "Alright," Peeta hisses. "You can do it, okay? Just pop it back into place, and ignore whatever comes out of my mouth. I'm sorry in advance."

"You're not helping," I snap in my nervousness. I hate the fact that I have to cause Peeta more pain. "Okay, on the count of three." Peeta nods. "One." I take a deep breath. "Two!"

I shove Peeta's shoulder back into place with a _pop_, ignoring the plethora of curses spilling from his mouth. Honestly, I can't blame him. Simply hearing that sickening _pop_ hurt me. But I notice Peeta's breathing evening out, his breaths becoming deeper and more measured.

"You cheater," he accuses with a tired, pained smile. "You said on _three_."

I shrug. "You weren't expecting it. I figured that would be better."

"Come here." He holds out his good arm, and I settle in his lap, though I stay clear of his left shoulder. He kisses my temple. "Thanks."

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm cut off by a scream. While we'd been distracted by his dislocated shoulder, the jabberjays have been assembling. Both Peeta and I look up at the trees, fear freezing our bodies when we see the sheer number of birds. Of course, the Gamemakers can't give us a break.

"It's not real," Peeta manages to whisper to me before the screaming starts. I cringe as Prim's pain-filled voice fills the air. My mother's scream is next. Then Gale and the rest of the Hawthornes. Hazelle. Rory. Vick. Even Posy, helpless, little Posy.

Peeta shudders when a particularly gruesome scream sounds exactly like his father. The screams of Rye and Chris haunt us, too. But neither Peeta nor I break. We hold each other tightly, whispering reassurances to the other, desperately trying to ignore the jabberjays. Frantic whispers of 'it's not real' and 'only jabberjays' and 'they're safe at home' pass between us. Though the screams of our family threaten to overwhelm us, Peeta and I remain strong.

Until one wail eclipses all the others.

The high-pitched wail of a baby pierces the air and my heart. I know that it's not my baby. My baby is safe in my womb. But even so, the sound cuts me to my core and I can't control the tears that begin pouring down my cheeks. Peeta is just as affected as I am, and I can feel his chest shake as a strangled sob escapes him. "It's not real," Peeta tells me in a tear-filled voice. "It's not real. It's not our baby." We both cringe as the baby wails loudly. "Not real," he repeats, his voice trembling. "It's not real."

The screams eventually stop, but Peeta and I don't move as Johanna and Finnick approach us. Their lips move, but I don't hear a word they say. All I can hear are the baby's wails. Suddenly, I'm lifted into the air and I realize that Peeta has gotten to his feet, though he's kept me in his arms. He carries me, bad shoulder and all, to the camp that Finnick and Johanna set up in our absence. Peeta sits down on the beach on the outskirts of our camp, emphasizing our want to be left alone, and wraps both his arms around me. My face is still buried in the crook of his neck, my tears still flowing freely. I want to stop crying. I really do. More than anything. But my hormones are preventing me from doing so.

To the Capitol, I must look like a completely different person compared to what they saw from me in the arena last year. Last year, I only cried twice. The first time, when I sang to Rue until she died. And then the second time in the cave the night I found Peeta. Other than that I was resolute and strong, blowing things up and eluding death. What have I done this year? Cry. Puke. Being excessively emotional in general.

I've been acting like a pregnant woman. If they don't like it, then that's just too damn bad.

I don't know for how long Peeta and I sit on the beach, away from everyone. It feels like hours, but I know it can't be for more than thirty minutes. All I hear are the baby's wails, and I have to constantly remind myself that it wasn't my baby. But was it someone else's child? Or did the Capitol manipulate that sound, too? Either way, it's a heartless act, torturing me with those screams.

Peeta has yet to loosen his hold on me, which is bordering on being too tight, but I don't say anything. We've yet to say a word to each other actually. What's there to say? We both know the truth. It wasn't our baby . . . but that doesn't mean that the _thought_ doesn't cause us pain. The _thought _that it could have been our child. That is what currently haunts us. In a way, the baby's screams were the manifestation of mine and Peeta's worst nightmare.

Snow is definitely pulling out all the stops this year, but I refuse to bend to his will. I refuse to crumble. After all that I've survived? All the hell I've been through? I've survived dehydration, starvation, great walls of fire, bloody battles, vicious mutts, poisonous fog, malicious monkeys . . . I can survive. It's the one thing I've proved over and over again. I'm resilient. I'm strong. And right now? Right now I'm a very pissed off pregnant woman who is sick and tired of President Snow haunting her thoughts and threatening everyone and everything she loves.

It's this anger, this determination, that makes me move. I pull back from Peeta and stare into his eyes, which are still reflecting pain and sorrow. But as soon as he sees the fierceness in my gaze—the anger—I see the sorrow fade. The pain remains, but it's eclipsed by the determination that's gripping me. We will not let President Snow break us.

"We're stronger than this," I tell him, and Peeta nods.

He closes the space between us once more, but only so that he can whisper in my ear, "We're going to give him hell." The same words I used the night after finding out about the baby. Both of us had been feeling terrified, but then, just like now, I'd refused to wilt. Determination had filled me and I'd told Peeta that we would find a way out of the arena and then make Snow pay. Give him hell.

"Right."

I wonder how I ever thought love could be a weakness. If anything, it has only made me stronger. It gives me a reason to fight. It gives me a reason to believe. Because as day after day passes, I realize that Prim's words to me nearly a year ago are proving to hold more and more truth. Love is a strength that can't be beaten.

And so without further ado, Peeta and I get to our feet and move back to where Johanna, Finnick, and Beetee are sitting. There's a beat of silence as we all stare at each other before Finnick asks, "You two going to be alright?"

"Fine," I answer.

"Jabberjays," Beetee begins, looking at me and Peeta. "You can't trust what you heard. The Capitol can easily take someone's regular voice and manipulate it into the screams you heard. It's quite simple. We teach our children the technique in school."

"You heard them too?" Peeta asks.

"Some," Johanna answers. "Before the barrier went up. There was a girl and a man. We thought one of them sounded like Peeta, but when we tried to reach you, the barrier came up. Didn't hear anything after that."

"It was Rye you heard," Peeta tells her, and despite our renewed determination his voice wavers slightly. "The one you thought was me. My brother."

"The other was Prim," I add softly.

"That wasn't all you heard," Johanna states looking between us, obviously referring to mine and Peeta's mini-breakdown.

Peeta and I share a glance before he says, "One of the screams sounded like a baby's."

Silence.

It takes a second for our allies to absorb this, and I know that I will have nightmares about the jabberjays for a long time to come. Finnick is the first to show any emotion. He scowls before abruptly standing and then diving into the sea. Beetee looks deeply troubled, though the look in his eyes reminds me of a thoroughly disappointed teacher. Johanna, however, once again proves to be a surprise. Disgust shows plainly on her face, and she abruptly turns her face up to the sky and shouts, "Go to hell, you bastards!"

My mouth drops open in shock. If I thought her words earlier today about the Capitol reaping my child just to see if it could kill as well as me or Peeta were gutsy, then I have no idea how to describe her words now except to say that Johanna Mason is the bravest woman I know. Our eyes meet and she smirks. Any inhibitions I had about Johanna are gone. She's on my side, and I think we'll turn out to be good friends.

The editors in the control room are no doubt having a time editing out Johanna's words, but I don't care if no one in Panem heard her treasonous, daring words. I did.

A cannon blast startles us all, and we all turn to what must be the six to seven o'clock zone. We watch as the hovercraft's claw descends five different times in order to pick up all the pieces of the dead tribute. Peeta immediately picks up his knife and a new leaf and draws another map like the one he had at the Cornucopia. We lost it when we were spun. This time he adds _JJ_ for jabberjays in the four to five o'clock section and _beast_ in the six to seven o'clock section.

For the next few hours, we each busy ourselves with mindless tasks. Peeta and Johanna venture back into the jungle to the tree he was tapping before the jabberjay attack to get water. Beetee fiddles with his wire, and I go to sit at the edge of the sea. Finnick has only come out of the water to weave yet another fishing net and more water bowls. The rest of the time he's spent fishing and he'll wordlessly give his catch to me and I will gut and clean them. When the sun begins to set, Finnick finally comes out of the water and sits beside me.

"I'm sorry," he says. "For what you had to hear."

"So am I," I reply, not wanting to linger on the subject.

Finnick senses this and nods. "Let's take these back to everyone then," he says, picking up a bowl of the raw, cleaned fish.

I take the other bowl and follow him. We've just sat down when the anthem plays and the faces of the dead appear in the sky. Cashmere. Wiress. Mags. The woman from District 5. The other morphling from 6. Blight. The man from 10.

Seven dead, plus the nine from yesterday. Two thirds of the tributes dead in only a day and a half. That has to be some sort of record.

"They're really burning through us," Johanna says, her thoughts obviously mimicking mine.

"Who's left? Besides us five and District 2?" Finnick asks.

"Chaff," Peeta answers immediately, and I think that he must have been keeping an eye out for the older man, since he is one of Haymitch's friends.

Just then, a silver parachute floats down toward us, bringing with it the small, bite-sized rolls from District 3. Beetee doesn't object when Finnick takes the parachute. "These are from your district, right, Beetee?" Peeta asks, though I really don't know why. He knew the answer. Maybe just making conversation.

"Yes, from District 3," Beetee replies before looking at Finnick. "How many are there?"

Finnick turns each roll over in his hands as he counts them, setting them in a four by six square. What is it with Finnick and bread? My eyes narrow slightly, but whether it's in suspicion or confusion I can't really tell yet. "Twenty-four," Finnick announces.

"An even two dozen then?" Beetee repeats, as if to make sure.

"Right on the nose." Finnick raises his eyebrows. "How should we divide them?"

"Let's each have three, and whoever is still alive at breakfast can take a vote on the rest," Johanna jokes, but I'm the only one that actually laughs a little. Johanna gives me an approving look, like maybe I'm not so bad after all.

After we eat our meal of fish and rolls, we wait until the ten o'clock wave before moving to that section. Theoretically, we should have twelve horror-free hours. Still, we're cautious and the fact that there's a mysterious, yet ominous clicking sound coming from the eleven o'clock wedge doesn't make us feel exactly safe. We just avoid that side of the beach, should some evil Gamemaker cockroach leap out at us and attack.

Peeta and I offer to keep watch, and no one objects, giving us our time alone. We sit on the damp sand, me watching the water while he watches the jungle. My mind can't help but drift to the events of the day. Losing Mags so early in the morning to the fog. The monkeys. Meeting up with Johanna, Beetee, and Wiress. Moving to the Cornucopia where I killed Cashmere and Wiress was lost. Then the jabberjays. I inwardly cringe at the memory still haunting the back of my mind. It's been a long day.

"How's your shoulder?" I ask quietly.

"Fine," Peeta replies, shifting so that he's sitting beside me, our shoulders (his right, my left) touching. "It's a little sore, but I can deal." He studies me. "How are you?"

There are so many ways I could answer that question, but I settle for, "Fine."

"You're not fine."

"Neither are you," I retort before sighing. "I just wish I could see their faces—my mother and Prim. Gale. And Maya. I really miss Maya."

Peeta chuckles. "Well, I can't whisk them here, but you can still see their faces," he says and I frown in confusion. Peeta gives me a smile before tugging at a gold chain around his neck that I've noticed, but never commented on. He takes it off and I see that a gold disk hangs from the chain, engraved with my mockingjay.

"Oh, look. We match," I say. This must be Effie's present to Peeta, her idea of 'matching accessories.'

But when Peeta runs his thumb over a catch, the disk opens. It's a locket. And like every locket should, it holds pictures. I feel my breath catch in my throat when I see my mother, Prim, and Gale smiling back at me. How in the world had Peeta gotten Gale to smile? On the left side of the locket is the other half of my family, my newly acquired family—Mr. Mellark, Chris, and Rye.

I smile softly, my eyes leaving the pictures briefly to look at Peeta. "Thank you."

"We should probably get back to keeping watch," Peeta says with a smile, before beginning to shift back to his previous position facing the jungle.

This doesn't work for me. Seeing the pictures of my family has raised my spirits greatly, and I'm feeling grateful. Despite everything that's happened, I still have my family. And I still have Peeta. I feel the need to celebrate, in my own little way.

So I straddle him, looping my arms around his neck. Peeta's eyes widen slightly before he laughs and says, "Uh, Katniss? This isn't how keeping watch usually works . . ."

"Sure it is," I tell him with a smirk. "I can watch the jungle, you can watch the water. It works."

"Katniss," Peeta protests, but his hands still settle at my waist. "I love you, but—"

I interrupt him with a kiss, and can't help but feel triumphant when Peeta immediately begins kissing me back. Though our brief conversation was rather playful, our kiss is anything but. I sigh as my fingers tangle in his hair and he deepens the kiss. There's no telling how long we would have kept kissing, if it weren't for Finnick, who pointedly clears his throat and says, "Odd way to keep watch."

Peeta and I break apart abruptly, looking at Finnick in annoyance. He holds up his hands, "Sorry, but you two don't have a cave to snuggle in this year. Spare the rest of us from what went on in that sleeping bag."

"Nothing went on in the sleeping bag," I tell him and Peeta scoffs.

"That's not how I remember it."

"Shut it, Mellark."

Finnick rolls his eyes. "Okay, I'm taking over for one of you, since you two obviously can't be together without causing trouble." He then looks pointedly at me, and so does Peeta.

I scowl, but before I can argue Peeta speaks, "Go to sleep, Katniss," he says. "You need it."

I want to argue. I really do. But he's right. Besides, I get the feeling that we'll be breaking out of the arena soon. Beetee is obviously feeling better, and these Games are winding down fast. We need to make our move, and I need to be prepared. So I allow Peeta to walk me back toward where the others are sleeping. He slips his locket off and puts it around my neck. Then, he places his hand on my stomach and says in a soft voice, "You're going to be a great mother, you know."

He kisses me once more before moving back to Finnick. I settle down a few feet from Johanna and close my eyes. Sleep captures me quickly and I'm swept up in dreams of a world where the Capitol and the Games don't exist. A place where mine and Peeta's child would be safe.

* * *

**Woo! Lots of stuff in this chapter. I admit it's probably one of my favorites, if only because I actually had Peeta say the F word. I know, petty of me, but really, isn't it kinda cute? I mean it's _Peeta_.**

**So, in summary for this chapter: The Capitol seems to have a fascination with genetically-altered birds, Peeta drops an F-bomb thus, if we're being overly dramatic, shattering his "Golden Boy" image, Katniss of course loves him all the same, someone else died by some unknown beastie (again, _LOST_ reference anyone?), Beetee is probably thinking of stuff no one can follow, Finnick is becoming one with the fishes and killing them soon after (seriously, who eats that much shellfish?), and Johanna is cursing the Capitol (what's new?).  
**

**Alas, I owe you a quote from CROCS! Hmm . . . let's see, let's see . . . time to introduce a brand new character! May I proudly present my own creation . . . Dr. Riley.  
**

**"Girl, you are so many shades of stupid, I don't know where to begin."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Ah! I can't believe it! We're almost at the end! Only one more chapter to go! Ah!  
**

***runs about her room flailing*  
**

**The last chapter will be posted on Christmas Eve! Isn't that an awesome coincidence?  
**

***runs smack into wall*  
**

**Ouch.  
**

***picks herself up and resumes running about her room*  
**

**See? I'm excited.  
**

**Anyhoo, this chapter is a lot of setup, but hopefully it's still fairly entertaining. As for a little CROCS update, I must say that things are going wonderfully well in the most deliciously spectacular ways. I'm right in the thick of Peeta's recovery and boy, is it a dramatic ride. I do love it. Yes, Yes, I do. Honestly, I'm never happier than when my characters are miserable. Is that bad? See, and now I've got you guys worried again. Just remember . . . trust me. PK will get their happy ending, I will personally see to it. That just doesn't mean the road to that happy ending won't be full of, but not limited to: a terrible case of PTSD, failed assassination attempts, conspiracy, explosions, dramatic confrontations, thwarting death multiple times, (etc.).  
**

***smiles dreamily*  
**

**It really is a lot of fun, guys. The thing about CROCS is that it is very real and deals with some very real emotions and situations that aren't very happy. In the original, so much was left alone. So many repercussions were ignored. I mean, seriously. Peeta is hijacked. Katniss feels bad but doesn't do anything to help him. This, of course, is after she's "supposedly" been racked with guilt and depression due to his capture. Then, suddenly, just in time for the end of the book, Peeta is stable enough to go on the final mission to take the Capitol? Yeah . . . that just makes _total_ sense.  
**

**I focus on Peeta's recovery in my version. He's in a dark place, and I fully explore that dark place and how it affects everyone around him, particularly Katniss. Things aren't happy and so I didn't write it that way. I wanted CROCS to be very real, and I think I've succeeded. In reality, when someone comes back from being tortured, they're a changed person. They're not the same. They'll never be the same, no matter how much therapy they go through. They'll retain some of that darkness that they suffered and it will change some aspects of their personality and twist some of their morals. Peeta will change. And Katniss will have to accept that and learn to love this new side of him. It's tough on both sides. Because at the same time, Peeta is trying to be all that he can be because he still loves her more than anything.  
**

**See how everyone would be miserable? They're both trying to be better for the other, but both have doubts as to how successful they'll be.  
**

**And now that I've babbled, I think it's time to focus back on this story. Anyhoo, this chapter, as I said, is a lot of setup, but hopefully it's not a complete bore.  
**

**That would really suck.  
**

**So, let's just get to the chapter, shall we? My ability to ramble continues to astound me . . .**

**Movie quote of the day comes from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part Two_!  
**

**"I mean, really, Hermione. When have any of our plans ever actually worked?" - Harry Potter  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."; "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"; "My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men."; "Spock, I look forward to the destruction of your planet and every planet around it. You will die. Your people will die. J.J. Abrams will die . . . you will ALL die."; "Master Robin . . . AH! . . . you lost your arms in battle! Oh, how terrible . . . but you grew some nice boobs!"; "I mean, really, Hermione. When have any of our plans ever actually worked?"**

* * *

Chapter 34

He looks just like Peeta, the little boy in my dream. The same boyish grin. The same blonde curls. Except his eyes. His eyes are a stormy grey, like mine. My little boy is smiling up at me happily, holding something in his hand. Something he wants to show me. He opens his little hand and . . .

I wake up.

Although I'm slightly disappointed that I didn't get to find out what my son wanted to show me, I'm still filled with the sweet happiness that the dream brought me. The feeling is so genuine and warm that I cling to it, not wanting the feeling to leave me. Being truly happy in the arena of the Hunger Games is an absurd feat, and I want it to last as long as possible.

But all too soon I'm smacked in the face with reality when I see the blinking light of a parachute floating down toward the others. Apparently, I'm the last one to wake because they're all standing under the trajectory of the falling parachute. I get to my feet and my warm bubble of happiness floats to the back of my mind, but still remains a steady, comforting presence.

I'm at Peeta's side when the parachute hits the ground. Yet again, it's another basket of rolls from District 3. Twenty-four rolls in total, just like last night. I frown slightly as we divide up the rolls, taking five a piece. As I nibble on one, I can't help but think that these deliveries are coincidental. After all, it's Haymitch. Everything Haymitch sends has meaning, a purpose. What could twenty four rolls from District 3 mean? My eyes find Finnick and Beetee. I think of the way Finnick has seemed to obsess over the bread, taking the time to count each individual roll. And Beetee, how last night he'd stated the number of rolls, twenty four, as if to be certain. Why would he need to be certain? The bread means something, I decide, and Finnick and Beetee know the answer.

Which means that somehow this bread tells us something about breaking out of the arena. After all, we have to act soon. Only District 2 is left and then it's just us, the allies. If we eliminate District 2, the Capitol will surely expect our alliance to fall and for us to turn on each other in order to win. We have to break out before we're put in that position, because I know that I can't possibly kill any of my allies. They're friends.

After we finish eating, everyone separates to do their own thing. Beetee is staring at his spool of golden wire, fiddling with it. Johanna leaves to tap a tree. Finnick begins to weave another net out of vines, and so I take Peeta's hand and lead him into the water. Somehow I've got to find a way to share my thoughts with him without tipping our hand to the Capitol and Snow.

When we're a suitable distance away from the others, I loop my arms around his neck so that I don't have to tread water. Peeta's hands settle at my waist and he asks, "So how did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well," I reply with a smile. "I had a dream."

"A good one?"

"I thought so."

Peeta grins. "And what was this good dream about?"

"The baby."

Peeta's face softens and a tender light enters his eye. It's not an accident when his hands brush my stomach. Despite everything, I know that Peeta is happy about becoming a father. Even with the threat of death lingering over our heads. "Really?" he asks softly. "What happened?"

"Nothing much," I shrug as much as I'm allowed with my arms around his neck. "He was probably about two or three, and looked exactly like you." Peeta chuckles. "But he had my eyes. He had something in his hand, something he wanted to show me . . . he seemed very proud of whatever it was."

"Woke up too soon?" Peeta guesses and I nod. "I bet it was a . . . flower."

I raise my eyebrows. "A flower?"

"Yeah," Peeta affirms. "Because if he's anything like me, he'd give his mother flowers. I bet it was a dandelion."

I laugh. "How would you know?"

"Because you like dandelions," he replies. "I'd be sure to tell him that."

I can see it in my head now, Peeta conspiring with his son to surprise me with flowers. The image is so incredibly sweet that my eyes begin to itch with the need to cry. Damn hormones. I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, and whisper in his ear, "You're going to be a great father, you know," I tell him.

"I hope so."

"You'll be amazing," I assure him, resting my head on his shoulder. "You're patient and kind and compassionate and everything else a father needs to be."

Peeta kisses my hair, "I love you."

"I love you, too," I reply softly before pulling away from him so that I can look him in the eye. It's time that we talked about why I really dragged him out here. I'm trying to figure out a way to allude to the escape from the arena, but Peeta beats me to it.

"You know, I think Beetee's coming up with a plan," he says casually. "An electrical trap for the rest of the Careers."

"Really?" I ask, knowing that 'electrical trap' means 'plan to break out.' "We'll need to act quickly, then. These Games are going by fast."

"Yeah," Peeta agrees, looking back at the beach to our friends. "We need to leave soon."

To the viewers and the Capitol, it sounds as though we're planning to ditch our allies once we get rid of the Careers. In reality we're talking about leaving the arena completely. Peeta's really too good at these secret, duplicitous conversations.

"After the Careers, it's just us," I nod in agreement and Peeta gives me kiss, as if to seal the deal.

We stay in the water a bit longer, swimming around aimlessly, when I notice that the remaining scabs on my skin are beginning to peel. Gently, I rub a handful of sand down my arm and the scabs fall away, revealing new, healthy pink skin. I tell Peeta of my discovery, and we help each other rid our bodies of the scales. We take longer than necessary, and I don't mind at all. Especially when Peeta's hands linger in all the right places. Hey, what can I say? Pregnancy hormones . . . father of my child running his hands all over me . . .

I enjoyed it thoroughly.

After we're satisfied that each of us are scale-free, I call to Finnick. "Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!"

It's comical how quickly Finnick gets up and dives into the water. After another ten minutes or so, all three of us emerge from the water, our skin as pink as the sky above us. I decide that we should put on another coat of medicine, since the skin seems delicate. The ointment doesn't look near as ghastly on smooth skin, and it will provide protection from the sun and also be good camouflage in the jungle.

I've just put the ointment back in my parachute when Beetee calls us over. "I think we'll all agree our next job is to kill Brutus and Enobaria," he begins and my heart stops. Not because we're talking about killing Brutus and Enobaria . . . because we're not. Not really anyway. This is what we're going to show Panem and the Gamemakers to hide our true plan. We're finally going to break out of the arena.

I focus my attention back on Beetee. "I doubt they'll attack us openly again, now that they're so outnumbered. We could track them down, I suppose, but it's dangerous, exhausting work."

I wonder. "Do you think they've figured out the clock?"

"If they haven't, they'll figure it out soon enough. Perhaps not as specifically as we have. But they must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they're reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not have gone unnoticed by them. We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena's a clock. So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap."

Beetee pauses for a moment, maybe to see if we have any questions. All of us remain silent, so Beetee continues as he draws a picture of the arena in the sand. It's not in Peeta's precise strokes, but that doesn't matter. Beetee's mind is focused on more important, complicated things. "If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?" he asks.

It's like I'm back in school, and Beetee is my teacher, slowly leading in to the lesson of the day. "Where we are now," Peeta answers. "On the beach."

"So why aren't they on the beach?" Beetee asks.

"Cause we're here," Johanna snaps impatiently. She's not one to beat around the bush, so she's probably doesn't like Beetee's lesson-like approach too much.

"Exactly," Beetee nods, ignoring her tone. "We're here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?" he asks.

"I'd hide just at the edge of the jungle," I say. It's far too dangerous to go too far into its unknown depths. "So I could escape if an attack came and so I could spy on us."

"Also to eat," Finnick adds. "The jungle's full of strange creatures and plants, but by watching us, I'd know the seafood's safe."

Beetee smiles proudly, as if we're his best students. "Yes, good. You do see. Now here's what I propose: a twelve o'clock strike. What happens exactly at noon and midnight?"

"The lightning hits the tree," I say.

"Yes. So what I'm suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o'clock wave. Anyone in contact with the surface will be electrocuted."

My mind is trying to process all that Beetee has suggested. His idea seems rather extraordinary, beyond any of my true comprehension. I'm sure that there are a million technical terms and scientific explanations for how his plan works, but I'm just happy knowing that the lightning strikes the wire and somehow we escape from the arena. The wire is the key, which makes me wonder, what's the lock? There's no use in having a key if there's no lock.

"Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, Beetee? It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up."

"Oh, it will," Beetee replies quickly. "But not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse, in fact. Except the electricity will travel along it."

Johanna is skeptical. "How do you know?"

"Because I invented it," Beetee replies, as if surprised we didn't know, and I can't help but smile. "It's not actually wire in the usual sense. Nor is the lightning natural lightning or the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," she admits, chagrined.

"Don't worry about the wire—it will do just what I say," Beetee assures us.

"And where will we be when this happens?" Finnick asks.

"Far enough up in the jungle to be safe."

"Okay," I say. "But the Careers will be safe, too, then, unless they're in the vicinity of the water."

"And all the seafood will be cooked," Peeta adds.

"Probably more than cooked," Beetee says with a small smile. "We will most likely be eliminating that as a food source for good. But you found other edible things in the jungle, right, Katniss?"

I nod. "And we have sponsors."

"Well, then I don't see a problem," Beetee says. "But as we are allies and this will require all our efforts, the decision of whether or not to attempt it is up to you four."

I glance at Peeta, raising my eyebrows. "What do you think?" I ask, though I know his answer.

"I don't see why not," Peeta shrugs. "If it fails, there's no harm done. If it works, there's a decent chance we'll kill them. And even if we don't and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose that as a food source, too."

Finnick looks at Johanna and they hold a silent conversation that stems from years of friendship. Finally Johanna says, "Alright. It's better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they'll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves," she adds dryly.

"Wonderful," Beetee says brightly. "I'd like to inspect the lightning tree before we put everything in motion, to eliminate any unexpected variables."

Since only Beetee truly knows all the intricate details of how this could blow up in our faces, none of us argue and we pack up and move to the twelve o'clock section. Johanna leads the way through the jungle, and I pick up the rear. Peeta and Finnick alternate carrying Beetee, who is still too weak to climb the steep slope of the jungle. But it doesn't take long before the intense hike causes us all to break out into a sweat and for our pace to slow.

The air is thick with humidity just as it's always been since these Games started. I want more than anything—aside from breaking out of the arena and watching President Snow die—a nice, cool glass of water. Or maybe an ice cube. It's not that I don't appreciate the liquid from the trees, but it's the same temperature as everything else in the arena—warm.

"Katniss, you better take lead," Finnick says as we begin to reach the crest of the hill. "You can hear the force field."

"Hear it?" Beetee questions, eyeing me appraisingly. Guess who isn't fooled by my little fib? But surely he must know that I couldn't point out the force field's weakness, the chinks in its armor.

"Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed," I tell him, hoping that he doesn't say anything contrary.

But Beetee just nods. "Then by all means, lead us on," he says. "Force fields are nothing to play around with."

"Definitely not," Peeta mutters before shooting me a reassuring smile, almost as if knowing that I would need to see that he was alright.

I give him a small smile in return before taking point and snagging a branch of nuts off a tree for future use. The lightning tree is unmistakable, since it towers above the rest of the canopy. I take the nuts and toss them in front of me occasionally, but it proves to be unnecessary. The force field is clearly visible to me due to the large, undulating square about twenty feet in the air. Still, I toss a nut toward the force field and it falls blackened to the ground with a puff of smoke.

"Just stay in front of the tree," I tell them. There's still fifteen feet of space from the back of the tree to the force field, but after Peeta's close call I'm not taking any chances. I even draw a line in the dirt so that the boundary is clearly visible.

Next, we divide up tasks. Finnick stays to guard Beetee as the older man examines the tree, while Johanna taps a nearby tree for water and Peeta gathers nuts. I hunt nearby, and as I move silently through the foliage my mind is consumed with thoughts of breaking out of the arena. Will Haymitch be in the hovercraft? Surely everyone oriented with District 13 will be, even Plutarch. Because once everything goes to hell, they can't be anywhere within reach of Snow's deadly clutches.

Once again my mind drifts to the wire. Such a small, golden, seemingly flimsy wire that is supposedly the key to breaking out of this arena. But what is the lock? Every key needs a lock. If Beetee's plan works, the majority of the arena will be electrified. Would the power surge cause the force field to collapse, or is there something I'm missing?

And what about the bread? Twenty four rolls from District 3. Twenty four and three. Those are the key numbers. Twenty four. There's twenty four hours in a day . . . could that be what it means? Twenty four hours. That would translate to midnight. And isn't that when Beetee wants to initiate the plan? Midnight? What does it matter that the bread was from District 3, though? Haymitch had to have had a reason for using that specific kind of bread. D3. Could it mean day three? That's it! Midnight on the third day. That's what it means. That told Beetee when to destroy the force field.

I feel a small rush of pride that I figured it out. Before Peeta, even. He's usually he first one to see these things. Maybe some of his smarts have rubbed off on me the past year. I see a tree rat hanging off a limb in apparent boredom, so I shoot it. I find two more easily and when I hear the ten o'clock wave I realize that it's about time I made it back to the others.

When I arrive back at our little makeshift camp, Beetee is hovering around the tree, taking measurements and doing who-knows-what. I watch as he takes a sliver of bark from the lightning tree and then tosses it into the force field. It glows a bright white before reverting back it its original color, and Beetee nods and murmurs, "Well that explains a lot."

I have to press my lips tightly together so I don't laugh. The only one who received any enlightenment from that little experiment was Beetee. I sit down beside Peeta, who offers to clean my kills since the smell of raw meat is yet another smell that makes me want to vomit now that I'm pregnant. He takes them a distance away from me, downwind, and quickly cleans the kills. I feel a little bit of pride as I watch him. I'm a good teacher.

I occupy myself with toasting nuts while he works. When he brings the meat over, I try not to breathe through my nose as we toss the cubes of meat into the force field. About a quarter of an hour later, the ominous clicking noise from the eleven o'clock section starts up. It's much louder here in the jungle than on the beach, and I conjure up a mass of flesh-eating beetles in my mind, scurrying along the forest floor, looking for a victim.

"It's not mechanical," Beetee decides after a moment.

"I'd guess insects," I say, and then add, "Maybe beetles." Flesh-eating beetles.

"Something with pinchers," Finnick says, making little pinching motions with his hands.

The sound of the clicking amplifies, as if our talking has alerted them of our presence, making us all wary. "We should get out of here, anyway," Johanna says. "There's less than an hour before the lightning starts."

We all agree and quickly pack up our meager supplies and food and move to the next section over, the blood rain. Beetee wants me to be able to climb a tree and observe the lightning strike the tower-tree. While we wait for noon to come along, we have a picnic of sorts. Nuts and tree rat with warm water. I almost miss last year during the Games, when all Peeta and I had to do was have a steamy make-out session and Haymitch would send food—Capitol food.

Wildly, I wonder if Peeta and I having sex in the arena would merit a Capitol feast like the one we received last year in the cave. As soon as the thought congeals in my mind, I blush in embarrassment, and of course, everyone notices. It doesn't help that my eyes immediately flash guiltily to Peeta, prompting Finnick to start teasing me of having dirty thoughts. This is when Johanna, ever the reliable one, points out that I'm pregnant and that had to happen somehow. Then she looks pointedly at Peeta, who ducks his head in embarrassment, but also to hide his smile.

Luckily, Beetee is here and he scolds Finnick and Johanna for teasing us.

When the clicking sound begins to abate, I climb a tree until my head pops out of the canopy. Right on time, the lightning strikes the tree at noon. It's stunning. When the white-hot lighting hits the tree, it's encompassed by a white-blue glow that seems to radiate heat and the air around the tree cackles with sparks of electricity. It's truly mesmerizing. I drop down into Peeta's waiting arms and report my findings to Beetee. I'm not too terribly scientific about it, but my explanation seems adequate because Beetee merely nods and seems satisfied.

By two in the afternoon we've arrived back at the ten o'clock beach after taking a rather circuitous route. Beetee sits in the shade and begins to fiddle with his wire, seemingly preoccupied, and it's almost as though we've gotten let out of school early. After an hour or so of lounging around and swimming, we decide that since this is probably the last time we'll ever be able to have seafood in the arena, we should make a feast out of it. So under the careful guidance of Finnick, we spear fish and collect shellfish and oysters. I can see why Finnick loves the sea so much. It's truly beautiful and relaxing, and I really get to appreciate it when I dive for oysters. The fish are so bright and colorful, and strange yet beautiful sea flowers dot the sandy floor.

Finnick, Peeta, and I clean and lay out the seafood while Johanna keeps watch. We work in relative silence until Peeta suddenly laughs after cracking open an oyster. He holds up a pea-sized pearl, creamy-white and shiny in the bright sun. "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal, it'll turn to pearls," he tells Finnick in an earnest voice.

Finnick scoffs in reply. "No, it doesn't."

But I've succumbed to a fit of laughter at Peeta's words and we share a knowing smile. The ever positive words of Effie Trinket. How she first presented us to the Capitol last year, as beauty that arose from pain, which then evolved to love that arose from hate.

Peeta rinses off the pearl in the water and then offers it to me with a soft smile and twinkling eyes. "For you."

"If you kiss him in front of me, I will kill you," Johanna says the moment I start to lean in. Peeta and I both pause to look at her. "What?" she shrugs. "I saw enough of that last year to last me a lifetime."

Peeta rolls his eyes and then gives me a quick kiss that causes Johanna to move toward him with an axe raised. "What?" Peeta smiles cheekily. "You said you'd kill _Katniss_ if she kissed _me_. As you just saw, _I_ kissed _her_."

Finnick laughs. "He's got a point, Jo."

"Shut up, Finnick!"

When we settle down to eat, Haymitch sends yet another basket of rolls from District 3. I watch as Finnick counts them. Twenty four. I fight not to smile. I was right! This is Haymitch reassuring them that we break out of the arena at midnight. However, he's also sent us a bowl of red sauce to go with the fish. Oh, he's feeling generous today.

We all stuff ourselves and actually carry on a rather lighthearted conversation. Well, as lighthearted as it can be with Johanna's blunt sarcasm. But Finnick and Peeta's combined enthusiasm causes her to soften just slightly, her words not having so much of a bite.

"So, what do you want your kid to be?" Finnick suddenly asks.

We're sitting in a loose circle, with me between Peeta and Johanna. At the question, both Peeta and I look to each other. "I just want the baby to be healthy," Peeta replies with a shrug. "Gender doesn't matter, but Katniss thinks it's a boy."

"How do you know?" I retort before looking at Finnick. "And he's lying. He wants it to be a girl."

"How do you know?" Peeta mocks me with a smile. "And I know you think it's a boy because you always refer to the baby as a 'him.' You want a mini-me."

I snort. "So? You always refer to the baby as a 'she.' Does that mean you want a mini-_me_?"

"Ever thought the kid might be a mix of the both of you?" Johanna asks with her signature sarcastic condescension. "You know . . . Peeta's smarts . . . your hunting . . ."

Finnick chuckles, "That's a recipe for disaster. Can you imagine the trouble that kid would find?"

"An untold amount, I'm sure," Beetee pipes up, causing us all to laugh.

Johanna shrugs. "Well, I'd bet it's a girl."

"Nope," Finnick shakes his head. "I'm with Katniss. It's a boy."

"There is a fifty/fifty chance," Beetee states. "It's all up to the chromosomes."

We eat until we can't possibly eat anymore, continuing the light conversation. Finnick makes a joke about glimpsing how the baby was made last night, which prompts Peeta to tell him that he couldn't be so lucky, which then prompts me to slap him upside the head.

Everyone just ends up laughing.

Despite all that we ate, we still have leftovers, so we throw them back in the sea. The shells we leave alone. They'll wash away with the wave. After cleaning up a bit, there's nothing left to do but wait. Peeta and I sit by the water's edge, hand in hand, though I rest my head on his shoulder. We look rather relaxed, but in reality we're not. Both of us are tense and anxious. Finally, we're going to break out. We're leaving. Going to District 13 to aid in the rebellion. Haymitch told us to prepare to do propos for the rebellion and other things like that. He even mentioned going out and fighting once, but that was specifically for Peeta. Not me, the pregnant one. The thought that either Peeta or Haymitch would let me go within a mile of a battle zone is comical. Really, they're both way too overprotective sometimes.

My stomach is filled with nerves and anxious anticipation. The battle is about to begin. I get the feeling that I'm about to be thrown into a whole new world blindfolded, but as long as I have Peeta I'll be alright. As if his thoughts are mirroring mine, Peeta squeezes my hand and places a kiss in my hair. I think of the pearl he gave me earlier, the pearl that is currently safely encased in a parachute tied to my belt. It's just a pearl, but it came from Peeta. His own little symbol of his love, and I can't help but smile at the thought.

Peeta brings our joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of my hand, and we share a small smile.

And then Beetee breaks the silence. "It's time."

* * *

**And cue dramatic music!  
**

**Well folks, the end is almost upon us! One more chapter to go! Ah!  
**

**So, in summary for this chapter: Beetee is fond of electricity, Finnick and Johanna are starting PK's baby's official fanclub, Katniss is dreaming of baby, Peeta is sweet as chocolate, and let the mass break out begin!  
**

**And the quote from CROCS comes from . . . *drumroll, please* . . . Haymitch!**

**"Working on it, sweetheart, but it's hard to accomplish something when I'm surrounded by idiots."  
**

**Lots of love,  
**

**AC  
**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Wow, I can't believe it! We're at the end, people!  
**

**Well, the end of _this_ story at least.  
**

**Alas, I find myself equally ecstatic and depressed that yet another of my stories has found its end. Regrettably, this always seems to happen; however, where one story ends another begins. This is always a helpful thing when it comes to my sanity. I would like to think that people value my sanity.  
**

**Even if I would make a pretty insanely awesome person, if I say so myself. Which I obviously just did.  
**

**But this isn't about me! No, no, no! This is all about YOU! My wonderful readers that have stuck with me through this entire story; showing me their love by means that include, but are not limited to: bribery, threatening, excessive compliments (my slightly narcissistic tendencies enjoy that immensely) before asking quite nicely for an early update (which, I will inevitably refuse, however politely). I mean, I'm like Effie when it comes to schedules.  
**

**And I'm already getting slightly off-track. Okay! Getting strictly to the point, you guys are awesome! Seriously, over 1600 reviews? For one story? That's epically fantastic in the most deliciously spectacular way. Reading your reviews always brought a smile to my face. It's an indescribable feeling to know that others seem to love your work just as much as you do. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being the best readers on this cite and gracing me with your presence through cyberspace.  
**

**And, because you're all so awesome, I find myself needing to thank every single one of you. If I forgot your name . . . well . . . slap me silly, cuss me out, and toss me in the meat grinder . . . my bad, guys. If I mentioned your name twice, quite honestly I have a lot of reviewers and sometimes I can't remember if I recorded your name or not. LOL  
**

**So! My wonderful reviewers are:**

**Ame123, Fanta, jmjames, CatchingPeeta, Naruto4Sakura, Guest, StayingAlive223, I 3 this fanfic, Skye Allison, wildflowersanddandelions, PirateGurly101, Bemac, unknown, Avid Reader 59, psalmofsummer, May, inu-rulz, crazyrawrx3, MadgirlSBA, Allison, GalanthaDreams, Alaee301, justcuz123, Angel Eyed Vampire, izzybellawella, AliceLightningBug, pyroseyes, JacksSwann07, Norbert's Mom, Emma Kellog, Claudita, ImBeautifullyHuman, Ellie, that1persona, cassieerin, ginevra-james, mrssherrange, thghpfan, schur665, Luna200, theOneAndOn1yOne, Lgwater27, mrsodairmockingjay132, amaskuponthesky, emmaknic, iam97, PAFSoeiro, diaphenia, 0Aud0, streetlightlove, katrissmellark, TinyNuttella, PercabethFanatic, Trisbriel, Peeniss0314, Dracoisalooker76, PieRoxMehSox, Bina, herehavesomeberries, JenniferBee, PrincessRedfern, kolorfulk, Peetasmylife, sadiemayk13, Hunger4Books, Delylah, Maryshann, Kate McKenthy, bettybops, Never Shout Sydney, Deception's Call, ,HungerGamesLover1234, Imc123, PeppermintToothpaste, idance911, kidfreak, , Clara Meliza, sleepingbriarrose12, MysTeRy, Texas-Devil-Or-Angel, Moto2014, Lavender, Last-Catastrophe, ImSherlocked, haylstags, LallyPopz, Shard of Midnight, livingwithobsessions, youpagedme, Isabella, peachie1st, Thumper56, langkuoch, JabberJay, Catori Kanti, shoesgreatrite, Nicala Flamelle, jonissandpeenissOHYEAH, Field of Sakura Blossoms, pearl86, baker's huntress, alwaysreading25, PurPleDog, Kateeta317, Eclaire Stones, gpalomob, stagemangertargyen, Jenna Red, Starxiaz, crystaltyger, DontFeedTheDragon, ClassifiedZammieluvr, WizardChick4Eva, aurora12345pm, PeetasGirl8, RenegadeEclipse93, 11, Ambray, Inuyasha'sLoveKagome, Jessie7517, Mystery, sugumi, Ellie, liljenmartin, Avatarfanx2, Indigold10, GlitterAttack, PercabethandZebrasFTW, gpalomob, peoplearestrange75, me, MissBri84, SakuraDrops141, oo65, jayley, Lizzy-apb, , Pricilla Grey, hannahdavid, Sherley, CharlieSweets, Abigail25, hatsu-kouen2143, MysteryNight, HungerGames101, Yukiru-4-eva, untidytowns, kaelaa, LoveMe219, raghzy, TheMaraudersSnake, Khrat9, Sherleyflower, LallyPopz, Dra9onf7yz, Prizz, marycontrary82, xSimplyAdorable23x, I-am-a-Firefly, Paulie03, MiaGleek, coadhpgg, Catman6543, Devoted reader, OneMayAlsoFly, Nerddtastic, emmarenae, TheMeaningofAlways, ellabumbella, EDelta88, Tadpole24, kimber1987, Lover53, itzybitzy, Jennik55, NcisIsLikeCupcakes, lalaland33, GlitterInTheSky, EvilMuffinx, Prizz, Everlark, reedieboo, RagdollPrincess, okinawa haruhri, pearl86, Dragontune172, FalineInTheWoods, Jill Cohen, Janerey, DollyJani, AnuluvesTwilightSeries, Tabitha, rossanasmith, MarlboroReds, Yugo, hungergamesfan77, aileigh, SeptemberSapphire4eva, jmjames, Megan11209, Abigail25, shan, ohsoPeeta, rochay97, , ThereAreMuchWorseGamesToPlay , ignitetheballoon, Ombre Rose, SkyStarVenus, perlisheli, Bookworm181, katandwyager, squirrelonfire, 11, HPHGFANATIC3497, Angeena, sugumi, Peeta'sPearl18, Michelle Perry, Love it, 15, handsdowntoo, EmilyMoo23, Kezzy1998, MysteryNight, ChrystieLuv3, yeahitsmerachel, BluebirdintheSnow, rebellefleur94, Haloooo, Nami-Taicho, macsadie, LOOVE IT, It, Breathingbooks247, beastlynerd, LoveHungerGamesJH, poison magnolia, k1demmin, Peetniss-Everlark, OreoMonstah, Toner of ShadoWs, The Mockingjay, M, Light Penguin, langlkuoch, Me, shaney455, bradyell, alexandriamungaray, 1000 Blue Cranes, Cockapoo, AlwaysToStay, Eclaire Stones, rayleen14, sadiemayk13, LiveByDaWordz, rhea, Spuffylover4everandaday, Malissandre S, bestkept, The Sarcastic Wallflower, rebma89, ignitetheballoon, Loueze, theOneAndOn1yOne, Sighing39, Sparrow Freedom Fighter, penguin44, haloooo, macsadie, AlwaysToStay, Nami-Taicho, meeeee, 2Loaves-and-a-Dandelion, THGpanem, SchoolGirl123, kayola15, Bluemnms, Swishy Willow Wand, Loueze, shaney455, Breakingbooks447, The Hare and the Otter, Mooglez, KeiBii, Lambstew42, MockingJay0221, anonymous-storyline, tanbaoyi, Tanuki jo-chan, Dancinghld, PeetaKatniss3, CinciReds, LoveHungerGamesJH, lesnackdeli, Reader, MenaLovesPeeta, lazy to login, pudge, Autumn Caramel, JoyfulyetHesitantPen, kexc, dollyluvsya101, KatnissEverdeenGirlOneFire, GeorgiatheMockingjay, AkJackson, Hey thigh, Drangontune172, armygirl918, 15, jayley, mokona, Gin, can'tgetenoughof23, xxMist, Anothers02, , LDPanda, pokips, Lisa, ThouArtLove, melverdeenforever219, YES, KageOkami-Kogo, pumpkinking5, earthangel123, NollasBlack, sweetStarre123, MockingjayGirl13, Critterwitter, SkyStarVenus, TheDeathlyHallows-123, Jessie0725, Cherryx3Cat, mellarkarry, pudgeee12, YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY, MockingJay0221, Oh-My-Sherlock, Yay, Girl, ABowman20201, zinkey1, WithMyDarkside, disappointed, lazy to login, KatLady13, Prizz, DrSheldon Cooper, Everlark, GirlOnFire1678, Hungergameslover04, Sadiemayk13, Tanuki jo-chan, . , irishdancer123x, Kelly, Gen-in-the-Eve, paxiel, Fleur odair, Reaper98, KageOkami-Kogo, Dragontune172, dollyluvsya101, JustWannaBeAnonymous, tvphile, mmendoza688, katie12345678, GeorgiatheMockingjay, perdita4321, kami kyuubi sama, Jessie0275, Missabear, Melisa, PMLover, IMPORTANTTIP, llamajo, paxiel, aileigh, johanna2011, Mindmapped123, Keibii, SchoolGirl123, TitanNegro, Mwah, penquin44, Elina, Soccergrilx1810, bestbridget14, we'reonfire,1000 Blue Cranes, Reader, LiveByDaWordz, Empty Thoughts, Lucas, Peeta's girly, tuph, Angeena, Girl, and of course, all my Guests!**

**Again, if I forgot any of you (hangs head in shame) toss me in the meat grinder. I'm quite serious.  
**

**On a less bloody, mutilated note: MERRY CHRISTMAS! And enjoy the last chapter . . .  
**

**Movie quote for the day comes from _Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows._  
**

**"Why would I want anything with a mind of its own bobbing about between my legs?" - Sherlock Holmes  
**

******************************Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?";** "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; **"You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."; "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"; "My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men."; "Spock, I look forward to the destruction of your planet and every planet around it. You will die. Your people will die. J.J. Abrams will die . . . you will ALL die."; "Master Robin . . . AH! . . . you lost your arms in battle! Oh, how terrible . . . but you grew some nice boobs!"; "I mean, really, Hermione. When have any of our plans ever actually worked?"; "Why would I want anything with a mind of its own bobbing about between my legs?"  
**

* * *

Chapter 35

I'm sure that the hike up to the lightning tree is just as long and arduous as it was earlier, but it doesn't seem like it. My excitement must be fueling my energy. When we reach the tree, I'm nearly bouncing, and I force myself to calm and treat this as a type of hunt. Slowly, my heart rate returns to normal, and my breathing becomes even and steady. I let my senses stretch out, searching for anything that could potentially harm us.

Beetee's first task appears to be unrolling yards of the wire. He has Finnick tightly tie it to a broken limb and then place it on the ground. Then, Finnick and Beetee stand on either side of the tree and begin to wrap the wire round and round the trunk. Johanna, Peeta, and I stand guard as they work, but I can't help that my eyes occasionally stray from the jungle around us to watch Beetee and Finnick work. At first, it seems rather haphazard, but then I begin to notice an intricate pattern forming from the wrapped wire. I don't know if it makes any difference how the wire is placed, but I'm not going to question it. Maybe it's just a ploy to add speculation from the audience. I bet that they know just as much about electricity as I do, which is to say not a lot.

Beetee declares that the work on the trunk is finished just as we hear the ten o'clock wave. I look to the sky to figure out just what time it is, because the wave doesn't start at exactly ten. First, there must be some build up of all the water and then there's the flooding afterward. The sky tells me that it's ten-thirty.

An hour and half to go.

"Okay." Beetee gets our attention. "Now, Katniss, I need you and Johanna to run the rest of the wire down to the twelve o'clock beach. Once you reach the beach, toss the spool and whatever wire is left into the water, and make sure it sinks. Then, run back up into the jungle as fast as you can. If you leave now, you should make it."

Peeta immediately starts to object and says, "I want to go with them as a guard."

After all that we've been through in the arena, there's no way Peeta is going to let me out of his sight, especially considering the baby, but Beetee shakes his head. "You're too slow. Besides, I'll need you on this end. Katniss will guard," he says. "There's no time to debate this. I'm sorry. If the girls are to get out of there alive, they need to move now." He gives Johanna the coil.

Truly, Beetee's logic is sound. Johanna and I are the smallest and the quickest. Plus, we're both the most comfortable in the trees. We'd be a lot faster than Peeta or Finnick. Still, I don't like separating from Peeta any more than he does. He's my partner in all of this, but it just won't work out that way this time. Johanna and I have to run the wire down to the beach.

"It's okay," I assure him. "We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up."

"Not into the lightning zone," Beetee tells me. "Head for the tree in the one to two o'clock zone. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage."

I nod curtly and then move to Peeta, taking his face in my hands. "Don't worry," I tell him confidently. "I'll see you at midnight."

"Make sure you do," he tells me, and we share a short, yet passionate kiss. His hand brushes my stomach gently as he says, "Be careful."

I flash him a quick smile before turning to Johanna. "Let's go."

Immediately, we take off into the jungle. Johanna unrolls the wire while I guard, and we're weaving through the trees at a pretty fast pace. Once we're about halfway down, we hear the telltale ominous clicking that signals eleven o'clock. "Better hurry," Johanna says, her voice slightly breathless from the exertion. "I want to put a lot of distance between me and that water before the lightning hits. Just in case Volts miscalculated something."

"I'll take the coil for a while," I say. She's had a long turn anyway and it's more work to unwind the coil than it is to guard.

"Here."

Just as I take the coil, both of us feel a vibration run through the wire and then suddenly it goes slack. Johanna and I stare as the wire drops down from above and falls in curls around our wrists and at our feet. Then the end of the wire falls between us. The _cut_ wire.

Someone above us cut the wire. Someone _close_ to us cut the wire . . . and it wasn't any of our friends. It only takes a split second for me and Johanna to reach this conclusion. I'm reaching back to my quiver for an arrow when something hard and metal slams into my temple. The world immediately starts spinning and blurring as I crumple to the ground, dazed. My head is pounding, amplifying the excruciating pain in my skull. A warm, sticky substance drips down the side of my face. Blood.

But none of this explains why I'm having trouble breathing. I force my eyes to focus and am stunned when I see Johanna on top of me, her knees planted on my chest. Johanna? I see a blood spattered spool on the ground beside her. Johanna hit me? Why?

Suddenly, I feel a sharp, stabbing pain in my forearm. I resist the urge to scream as Johanna twists the point of her knife into my flesh. It's like she's digging for something, carving into my arm. I try to jerk and twist away from her, but Johanna is much stronger than she looks, and I'm still too incapacitated from the blow to my head. There's a terrible ripping sensation in my arm that brings tears to my eyes and causes a warm flow of liquid to gush from my arm, coating my hand. Before I can blink, Johanna slides her hand down my arm, coating her hand with blood, and then smears it on half of my face.

"Stay down!" she hisses and then takes off running in the opposite direction.

I've just barely processed her words when I hear two sets of feet approaching. Unthinkingly, I close my eyes. "She's as good as dead!" It's Brutus. "Come on, Enobaria!"

Then I hear them thunder away, not bothering trying to remain unnoticed, in the same direction that Johanna went. What's going on? Why did Johanna turn on me? Betrayal stings in my chest as I think of the woman who has slowly been growing on me since reaching the Capitol. She seemed to be on my side.

I put my hand on the jagged cut to my forearm, ignoring the stinging pain that magnifies as I apply pressure to the wound. Wait . . . my forearm . . . my forearm that was implanted with the _tracker_. Johanna cut it out. So the Capitol no longer knows where I am. They have to rely on the hundreds of cameras throughout the arena to try and catch a glimpse of me. This has to be part of the plan. It has to be. This was Johanna's job. To cut out the tracking devices. And then she led Brutus and Enobaria away from me.

For a moment, I'm filled with renewed respect for Johanna, until I realize that Peeta, Finnick, and Beetee can't possibly know that the wire was cut. They don't know about Brutus and Enobaria screwing everything up! I've got to tell them. I've got to get back to Peeta.

But the second I'm on my feet, my world is spinning rapidly. Blood loss. The cut on my forearm is bleeding at a fantastic rate, and I quickly grab some moss to try and staunch the bleeding, securing it with a tangle of vines. Get back to Peeta. That's my only goal at the moment. Have he and Finnick seen the wire go slack? Do they have any clue about the deadly turn of events?

I begin to stumble back up the slope, trying to move as fast as I can. But the world is still spinning, my vision is fading in and out, and the blood loss from the cut on my arm is quickly sucking all my energy. No doubt Johanna did irreparable damage to veins and arteries, not that she really had time to be exact about it.

I've barely gone fifty yards before I hear someone coming toward me a fast clip. Too fast to be Peeta or Beetee. Finnick, then. It must be. But just in case I grip the arrow loaded into my bow and duck behind a curtain of vines. I needn't have been cautious. Finnick flies by me, yelling, "Johanna! Katniss!"

"Finnick!" I try to yell back, but I don't quite manage it. My voice is too weak, but somehow Finnick manages to hear me and his head snaps back so quickly I'm surprised his neck didn't break.

"Katniss!" He rushes back to me, quickly looking me over. "Where's Johanna? What happened?"

"Brutus or Enobaria cut the wire," I explain as quickly as I can. "Johanna hit me and made it look like I was as good as dead and then took off. They left me and followed her."

Finnick looks torn. "Come on, I'll get you back to Beetee and Peeta."

"No!" I argue. "Go after Johanna." Even with Johanna's skills, taking on Brutus and Enobaria by herself is nearly impossible. "She needs you more than me. I can make it back by myself. Go!"

Finnick hesitates for a second more before hurrying off in the direction Johanna went. I resume my trek up the slope at as fast a clip as I can manage without the world spinning. Peeta. I have to get back to Peeta. It's this thought that fuels my legs to move a little faster. Find Peeta. Get back to Peeta.

I quickly become aware of another problem. How close is it to midnight? I pause for a moment and listen. The clicking of the insects is still loud and clear. But how much more time do I have? Half an hour? Maybe less? What happens if we don't bring down the force field by midnight? Everything will be ruined and I'll most likely die. My baby will die. That can't happen.

I will my feet to move, but I've only gone twenty yards before they get caught up in a snag of vines. I fall on my face and struggle, flailing, trying to dislodge myself from the vines. But when the trapping foliage hits the moonlight, I see that it's not vines at all. It's a mess of the golden wire. Well, at least I'm not so disoriented that I'm on the wrong path. I free myself from the wire and then follow it uphill, staying the right side. If the lightning hits, anyone touching that wire is dead.

Midnight is fast approaching, I can feel it. Have the insects begun to fade? I can't tell anymore. My mind is too consumed with getting back to the lightning tree, where Peeta and Beetee should be waiting. But when I finally make it to the little clearing, I only find Beetee lying prone on the ground. A pained moan escapes him as I collapse to my knees beside him.

"Beetee!" I hiss, but he doesn't answer me. I see a bloody gash on his arm. His tracker has been cut out as well . . . but Johanna couldn't have possibly cut it out. It would have had to have been Finnick or Peeta. Maybe even Beetee himself.

And that's when I realize that Haymitch has fooled me once again. There was no splitting of information to keep the plan as secret as possible, no pieces of a puzzle. No, Peeta and I were the only ones lacking certain information. All we knew was that we were breaking out of the arena. Finnick and Beetee with the bread. The trackers with Johanna. They knew every facet of the plan. Peeta and I were the only ones in the dark. Momentarily, I forget Beetee lying in front of me as my anger at my mentor consumes me. Was I not trustworthy enough? Or was this just another attempt of his to protect me?

I shake my head . . . not the best idea with a head injury. My vision fades in and out for a moment. I blink quickly, trying to clear it. I can't focus on Haymitch's half-truths right now. We still have to break out of the arena. Then I can give him a piece of my mind.

"Beetee!" I call to him again. "Where's Peeta?"

A moan is all the answer I get, and I growl in frustration. I have a feeling that Peeta took off after me not too soon after Finnick. That overprotective fool. He should have stayed!

Beetee moans again and makes a weak gesture toward me. A knife is clutched in his hand, Peeta's knife, with Beetee's gold wire wrapped around it. I pick up the wire in my hand and see that it's tied to the tree. My brow furrows. What did Beetee try to do? This must be part of his real plan. The plan to break us out of the arena. I remember the yards of wire that he'd seemingly laid aside earlier, the wire that he had Finnick tie to a branch. This is the wire that matters.

But what does he mean to do with it? My eyes find the force field in front of me, not even three paces from me. It's not invisible like the one in the Training Center that separated us from the Gamemakers. This one is more like a mirror, and from Peeta's encounter with it earlier, I know that the real world lies behind it. How do I bring it down? What was Beetee's plan? Did he mean to send the lightning bolt's energy into the force field? The force field is mainly energy, right? Would the energy of the lightning bolt, combined with the existing energy of the force field, result in some kind of overload and cause the force field to collapse?

I notice that the jungle around me is too quiet. The clicking has stopped. I have only minutes. Maybe less. And I'm not kidding myself into thinking that I can stay conscious that much longer. Blood is seeping from the moss covering the cut on my forearm. I'll pass out within minutes.

"Katniss!"

Peeta. It's Peeta. I hear him, trampling through the jungle, but he's far away from me. "Peeta!" I call as loud as I can, hoping to steer him back in the right direction. "Peeta, I'm here!"

"Katniss!" His footsteps change direction. He's moving back toward me.

"I'm here! I'm here!" I call again, hoping that he can keep on the right path.

And then a cannon sounds.

Who was it? Peeta? Johanna? Finnick? What about Chaff? Brutus or Enobaria? It could be anyone. Time is running out. Midnight is coming. The lightning is coming. Beetee is incapacitated and at the moment I'm the only way we're getting out of the arena.

If only I knew how.

Two sets of feet reach my ears, and I look to my left to see Enobaria and Finnick. They've reached the lightning tree, but they can't see me high on the slope, camouflaged by the ointment. I think of shooting Enobaria, but I can't bother with her. I have to bring down the force field. There's only a faint insect click every now and then. Running out of time. Running out of time.

Another cannon fires.

"Katniss!" Peeta hollers, and I want terribly to answer him, but I can't with Enobaria here. I can still hear Peeta, though, plowing through the jungle. He's closer. He might make it to me.

My eyes find Beetee's knife, the golden wire wrapped around it. What was he trying to do? Minutes to midnight. Minutes until I black out from blood loss. What were you trying to do Beetee? I stare at the knife and then back to the force field.

And that's when I see the rippling square about fifteen feet above me. The flaw in the force field. _The chink in the armor. _And suddenly, it all clicks. I know what Beetee planned to do. The wire is the key, yes. And I now know its lock. The force field. The chink.

I remember the day in the Training Center, when Wiress and Beetee pointed out the undulating squares in the force field. I'd thought that "chink in the armor" was an odd turn of phrase, and postulated that perhaps it carried a heavier connotation. Why had I forgotten my previous theory? The chink in the armor. That's how I'm getting the hell out of here.

With trembling hands I slide the wire off the handle of the knife and wrap it just under the feathers of my arrow. Then I step out of my cover, fully revealing myself, but not caring. There are no clicking insects anymore. Seconds to midnight. I aim for the rippling square, the chink, and then let my arrow fly. I watch as my arrow and the wire connected to it disappears through the force field.

Then the lightning strikes.

The wire flares a bright white and for a fantastic moment, the entire dome of the arena lights up in a dazzling blue hue.

And then I'm blown backward, hitting the ground hard. I lie there, completely stunned, paralyzed, and only able to look up at the fake sky above me that is now collapsing and exploding. Matter rains down on me, but I can't move. I can only lie there motionless on the ground. Explosions rock both the ground and the sky, bright flashes of red and orange light flaring everywhere. It's complete chaos.

The ground continues to explode, sending dirt and plants spraying everywhere. Trees go up in flames. Everything is burning. Everything is destruction. But I'm not focusing on that.

"Katniss!" His voice is faint, whether due to injury or distance or the loudness of the explosions rocking the arena, I don't know. "Katniss!"

I manage to get to my knees. "Peeta!" My eyes try to focus more on what's around me, but all I see are explosions and flying dirt and plants and flames. Where's Finnick? Johanna? Beetee still lies prone on the ground. He won't last much longer.

Where's Haymitch? Where's the hovercraft?

"Peeta!" I force myself to my feet, and just as I take a step forward, he crashes out of the jungle. "Peeta!"

His eyes immediately find me and then he's right in front of me. "Are you alright?" he asks quickly, looking me over. He doesn't look too injured, except for a few bleeding gashes on his chest, arms, and face. Probably due to catching vines as he ran through the jungle. "What happened?"

"Wire cut," I tell him simply. "Johanna cut out my tracker. Led District 2 away from me."

"Finnick and I didn't know what happened. The wire just went slack," Peeta says quickly, so quickly that my faint mind can barely keep up. "He took off and I stayed with Beetee, but I couldn't stay for long. I had to find you."

Another explosion rocks the ground beneath our feet, causing me to pitch forward. Peeta's arms wrap around me to steady me, and I place both my hands on his chest to brace myself. "You're such an idiot for going after me!" I tell him harshly. "You should have stayed here!"

"Like hell," Peeta retorts. "I wasn't about to wait around for you to come back, especially when everything went south."

Suddenly, a hovercraft materializes above us. I'm filled with excitement and relief for a split second until I see the seal of Panem painted onto the side. The Capitol hovercraft. It drops its claw, and before I can react, Peeta yanks on my good arm and we're running through the exploding jungle. We're able to maintain a stumbling sprint for a good two hundred yards when we encounter a thick section of the jungle that hasn't been blown to bits by the explosions yet, and Peeta suddenly comes to a stop.

I look at him confused and fearful. Why has he stopped? But when I see the sad, yet determined look in his eyes, I realize that he has a plan . . . and I'm not going to like it one bit. "Listen to me, Katniss," he says quickly, his hands cradling my face. "We can't keep running. They'll capture us."

"But if we stay—" I begin to argue, but Peeta shakes his head.

"No, if _I_ stay we'll still be captured," he says sadly. Peeta holds up his forearm. There's no bloody gash. "I still have my tracker. You don't. As long as I'm with you, they'll know where you are."

Horror fills me as I realize what he's saying; what he's planning to do. This can't happen! It can't! He can't possibly do this to me. "No! Peeta, you can't leave me! Do you know what they'll do to you if they . . . if they . . ." Tears are stifling my words. I can't finish the sentence out loud. If Peeta's captured, the Capitol will hurt him. _Torture_ him. For information. Information that he doesn't really have.

Peeta rests his forehead against mine. "I know," he says softly. He knows exactly what will happen. "Listen, I'm going to run . . ." I'm already shaking with sobs. ". . . and you're going to go in the opposite direction, alright?"

"Peeta," I plead with him, my voice breaking. "You promised you wouldn't leave me. You _promised_."

"I know." Peeta tenderly wipes away my tears. "I know. How about I make you a new promise? Alright?" His voice is choking. He's trying not to cry. "I can't promise to never leave you, but I can _always_ promise to find a way back to you. That's one promise that I'll never be able to break. I _will_ find a way back to you, Katniss. I swear." Peeta pulls away from me slightly so he can see my face. His blue eyes are shimmering with unshed tears, but his face is set in a mask of determination. "I love you," he tells me so softly that I barely hear him. "More than I could ever hope to describe. You and the baby are everything to me, so please take care of yourself, alright?"

"Peeta, I can't do this without you," I sob, and the look in Peeta's eyes is so pained that it causes my already breaking heart to wrench. "I can't _survive_ without you."

"Katniss," Peeta pleads in a strangled voice. "Please. Be safe. Let me do this. I'll come back to you, I promise. But you've got to let me go."

"No—"

The trees suddenly begin to sway violently as a sharp wind tears through them. The Capitol hovercraft has found us. Peeta turns to me, panicked, determined, and terrified all at once. "I love you both," he whispers before capturing my lips in a fierce kiss. It doesn't last for more than two seconds, but it still leaves me reeling. He stares into my eyes, conveying all his love in one tender look. He gently caresses my face.

And then turns and bolts into the jungle.

The Capitol hovercraft begins to follow him, and I'm overcome with sobs. I want to follow him. My muscles are straining against me to follow him. We're in this together. That's been our motto. Together. Always.

But instead of chasing after him, I turn and run in the opposite direction. The baby. That's the only reason I'm doing this. Keep the baby safe. That is mine and Peeta's purpose. Keep the baby safe. I repeat this over and over in my mind to keep my feet moving away from Peeta.

Each step causes the claws gripping my heart to sink a little deeper.

I reach the lightning tree in time to see a claw from a hovercraft lifting Beetee into the air. This hovercraft is black. Secret. District 13. I collapse onto the ground, which is still riddled with rocking explosions. My body curls in on itself, my arms wrap around my stomach. Protect the baby. All of this is for the baby.

Peeta went willingly into the Capitol's cruel clutches to protect me and the baby.

The silver claw descends once again, and I don't fight it as it lifts me up. I'm dazed and broken. Blood drips from my forearm. Agony savagely rips at my heart. My eyes flutter shut as I succumb to the blood loss. Darkness envelopes me, and right before it takes me away, I hear Peeta's voice in my head. His words to the baby that have proved heartbreakingly true . . .

"_You and your mother are the two most important things in my world, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you, I promise."_

His final words from that morning are a whisper in my mind as I finally succumb to unconsciousness.

"_Daddy's going to keep you safe."_

* * *

**I mean, what's better than Peeta (you're such a white-knight, m'dear) sacrificing himself to the Capitol to protect his family? Plus, since I did it that way, I got to write the tearful goodbye scene. I love those. They're so much fun! Woo!  
**

**Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. It's sad. Yes, yes. Very sad indeed . . .  
**

**But still awesome.  
**

**So! This is the end of another story! Always bittersweet for me . . . so it's a good thing there's another one coming, right?! My plan for _Come Rain or Come Shine _is to begin posting January 14. I know that's a three week break in between, but it's my Christmas Break and I just want to chill and relax. Plus, I plan on seriously ironing out my ideas for my own set of novels, a trilogy that I'm extremely excited about, so that I can begin writing them this summer. **

**In summary, mark your calender's people: Monday, January 14, 2013. The first chapter of _Come Rain or Come Shine_ will be published at my usual time on that day. Prepare for a deliciously dark, mature, depressing twist of turns that will leave you reeling every chapter (hopefully). Don't worry, there's some happy stuff in there too . . . seriously, I promise . . . it's just kind of a rare occurrence. Not trying to scare you, just telling you how it is. CROCS is _full_ of emotion. It's sad. It's depressing. But there's a light at the end of the tunnel. There's hope.  
**

**There's just a lot of ass-kicking to be done by various characters. ;)  
**

**CROCS is my favorite in the series if that makes any difference or settles your worries. It's the one that I think is the best written, holds the most emotion, and portrays the reality of what has happened in the first two books and the repercussions. I'm very proud of it, and it was tons of fun, so I hope you guys will like it as much as I do.  
**

**And with that, there's not much else for me to say. I can only praise all of you guys once again. You are the best readers on this cite, and I'm incredibly honored that all of you take the time to read my stories. That said, I seriously want to know what you guys have thought of this story. I know I have tons of readers who don't review, and I really want to hear from you guys. So, I'm asking that you just take a few seconds to tell me what you think. It doesn't even have to be a coherent sentence. It doesn't have to be a sentence at all. I find smiley faces extremely satisfying. :)  
**

**Alas, I owe you one last quote. And, naturally, it comes from Peeta.  
**

**"Not a minute passed that I didn't think of you."  
**

**So, on that note, I bid you adieu,  
**

**AC  
**


End file.
